


Secret to Sell

by TheManSings



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 38,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManSings/pseuds/TheManSings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its been a month since the wedding and things are not how they seem. Because secrets aren't more fun if you share with everyone, they're just more accessible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There is a moment right when your eyes adjust to the dark – the exact _second_ when you can see again that makes you feel invincible. Ian loves that moment, loves the superiority it gives him like he would never need to turn a light on again. If the world was blanketed in darkness he would still thrive and that was an intoxicating idea.

But then there is another moment, the one where the darkness fights back. And for some reason no matter that you know it’s not actually happening, everything grows darker. The longer you have your eyes wide and looking, it darkens a shade deeper and deeper until you think that you will soon know darkness you’ve never thought was possible.

Ian hates that because you’re still able to see a little and for some reason it’s more terrifying, more pressing that way.

 

 

He had crept back into the house an hour ago praying that no one would be awake. He just needed a hot shower and a fresh change of clothes and some painkillers, that’s all then he’d be fine.

But when he tiptoed into his room and saw a sleeping Mickey Milkovich sprawled out in his bed everything changed. Because Mickey couldn’t know – it was imperative that Mickey never found out about any of it.

Ian was careful to grab clothes on the floor instead of risking the sound of a dresser drawer. Mickey rolled over and sighed into his blankets and it made him wonder how often the man before him actually slept. When everyday is one glass of spilled milk waiting to happen in the Milkovich house – sleep is a luxury quickly surrendered. 

A black eye was forming on Mickey’s pale skin and Ian could see the scraps of skin under the _fuck u-up_ tattoo were peeled and bloody. Fighting hands – he looked at his own and cringed at how similar they were.

When he turned the shower on he stilled and listened intently waiting for the entire house to wake up but no one moved. There were no creaking footsteps from curious minds, just blissfully sleep drunk bodies. Ian hissed and winced at the hot water and watched mesmerized as the blood dripped down his legs to his feet swirling around the drain.

It was beautiful.

\---

“When did you get in?” Lip shuffled his feet over to the chair near the couch and dropped into it with a slight _thud_. Ian turned over and squinted through sleep-bleared eyes. “Holy shit Ian what happened to your face?”

He’d known that he would look bad when he woke up. The cuts were shallow but the bruises had been dark and deep and aching. “Wrong place wrong time.”

Lip stared at him concern growing across his features but he didn’t press on. “I didn’t hear you get in last night.”

“Yea I was out late.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position and practically bit through his tongue at the searing pain raking through his body. “What’s Mickey doing here?”

Lip shrugged and stared a little harder at his face. He really wanted to ask questions. “Fiona told us he was staying the night and then he pretty much just passed out. I didn’t talk to him”

“Fiona?”

He fumbled for the cigarette and lighter on the table next to him. “Yea I don’t know she wouldn’t elaborate. Just said he was staying.” A flame danced to life before his brother’s face. “It was fucking weird though.”

He nodded like he even knew what he was agreeing to. It being weird? Yea, he guessed. Did he want to talk about it? Throw ideas around about what might be going on? No.

The only thing that Ian could focus on was the nausea overtaking him and the concerning taste of pennies in his mouth. He’d thrown up blood before going to sleep and there it was – still lingering and begging him to say hello.

It had been almost a month since the wedding. Almost a month since he’d stolen his brother’s identity and gone to board the bus only to be stopped by a weeping Mandy saying that Mickey was gone. A month since Mickey was found strung out in a motel room with the needle still in his arm and a month since he and Ian had fucked with tears in their eyes.

Mandy had screamed herself hoarse for days demanding that Mickey take it back because _you’re just like dad_. He threw out every drug he owned that night and Ian sat next to him in the bathroom as he puked up the comparison.

Svetlana was around for all of 2 weeks before disappearing and Ian thinks that maybe he should have felt a little bit bad for not caring if she was alive or dead. But he didn’t – not really.

Ian hadn’t told his brother or Mickey about the brick that was thrown through the window of the Kash and Grab. Didn’t tell them about the suspiciously strong smell of gasoline around the store or how he called the fire department and it was _a sure fire plan for arson_.

“ _You’re lucky you noticed it before they lit the place up kid. No doubt you wouldn’t have gotten out.”_

He had thanked the firefighter and took the compliment on his exquisite observations. He decided to leave out the part about it all being for him.

Footsteps sounded behind him and Ian turned to see Mickey standing at the bottom of the stairs. His black eye so _not_ out of place that it was kind of sad.

The older boy stared at him so intensely that it was _uncomfortable_. Each ache in his body screamed at once as if trying to test his will. Like they wanted him to give it up and tell Mickey that something had gone terribly wrong.

“What happened to you?”

Mickey’s voice was course with sleep and something else – something that made Ian salivate because it hurt so good. It reminded him of that time he’d put his hand through a window and lied telling Fiona that it had been an accident. _I just fell don’t worry about it._ But he hadn’t fallen, not in the literal sense.

They stayed staring at each other and Ian found himself wanting to scream. He wanted to shatter all the glass in the house and beg Mickey to roll around in it with him. When each shard would pierce their skin he could blink and break eye contact to sigh out his question of _isn’t this better?_ Because they were already bleeding and he could see the very messy road paved custom for them.

So maybe he should tell him – because he was gonna need to walk it too and Ian had a secret.

But he couldn’t know. Mickey could never know.

“Nothing. Wrong place, wrong time.”


	2. Chapter 2

Fiona sat rigid at the table shifting her eyes back and forth between all the faces she had to feed. One Milkovich had now turned to two and Debbie’s incessant questions of _why is Mickey here_ did nothing to help the tension.

“Good eggs Fiona.” He forked another mouthful and she nodded absently.

Debbie wiggled in her chair and went to sit up a little straighter. Sometimes he forgot how young she really was but it’s those moments that remind him. The few seconds of desperate need to play a role of maturity that puts a bad taste in his mouth and something heavy way down deep in his chest.

“Ian did you take a shower last night?” He went to deny it– always deny, but she just kept going on a mile a minute. “Because you left your wet towel on the floor and it was disgusting. My feet got all wet and gross this morning when I went in there.”

Carl smirked over a glass of orange juice. “If you were gonna take a shower why did it matter your feet were wet.”

“It’s the principle!” Her eyes flared with misplaced rage. “It’s the _rule_.”

Ian held up his hands in mock surrender. “Got it sorry. It wont happen again.”

The table fell into mindless conversation -- about how Carl needed to stop ruining Debbie’s dolls about Lip’s thoughts on College. Mandy wanted to know what kind of toast it was because she was going on a diet and Mickey was quiet. Fiona was quiet and he was quiet.

Three quiet little statues.

A knock echoed out from the front door and Ian felt his face burn with guilt. Because he wasn’t sure what he thought, that he’d have a few days? That they would grab him at work and not home?

“Mickey.” Fiona’s voice was terse and he leaned into the name because there was an unsaid story hanging on it.

Then, the most shocking thing happened – Mickey listened. His body bunching in sections of tensed muscles and silent obedience as his form disappeared up their stairs. Ian’s heart pounded faster and faster with each passing second hammering in the nails of finality that there was something happening. And it didn’t matter if it was for him or Mickey because if you take away one half then the whole thing will crumble so his chest heaved with more of a struggle at breath because a death sentence had just been signed.

Lip followed the older Milkovich’s escape and slowly turned his head to their older sister. “What’s going on?”

Another knock.

“Debbie, Carl –finish your breakfast.” Fiona pushed back her chair and went to open the door. Ian practically jumped up to follow because it was true that curiosity killed the cat. He used to think it was a stupid saying, that he would put reason before that creeping need to just _know_.

But you’ll always fall victim to yourself, and it’s worse than being a cat. Because cat’s always land on their feet.

Tony’s face sent a shiver up his body because this was it. They wanted to bring him in – ask questions. _Ian we just need to ask you a few questions._

“Hey Fiona.” He gave a soft half smile as if this really was the last thing he wanted to be doing. It was too bad that Fiona couldn’t trick herself into loving him.

She gripped the door _just_ tightly enough to make the stench of fear begin to take hold. “Hey Tony.”

Tony looked around behind her and Ian slunk further back into the corner of the room. “Is Mickey Milkovich here?”

Fiona let out a laugh. “Mickey Milkovich?” Ian wished they would stop saying his name. “You’re serious? Why would he be in my house?”

It’s a lot like having a gallon of ice water dumped on you – fear. The moments before and after and the relief that is not really relief at all. Your brain forgets how to do stupid things like breath and regulate your body temperature so after that push of adrenaline you’re left feeling empty and fragile and more likely to fall apart than if it really had been just as bad as you’d worried it would be.

Ian wanted to look up the stairs to Mickey, to let him know that this fear coursing through his body was for him.

“What about Mandy?” Tony slumped his shoulders seeing that this would be a fight. “Is Mandy here?”

Fiona glanced back to where Mandy now had her head poking out from around the kitchen. “What do you want with her?”

And Ian could hear it in her voice, inherit protectiveness. Fiona was protecting the Milkovich siblings and his head was spinning.

Tony tried a different tactic softening his voice and taking a step closer to his sister. “Hey Fiona I don’t want trouble with them I just need to talk.”

“Well what about.” She wasn’t budging.

It shouldn’t have seemed so out of place. A cop coming to their door, something involving Mandy and Mickey – it should have just been another day. But it wasn’t another day. Because Mickey doesn’t just come over and sleep in his bed and eat breakfast with his family. And Mickey doesn’t hold his tongue, doesn’t listen to a woman not more than 4 years older than him order him around. Mickey doesn’t run and hide upstairs to let someone else fight his battle.

“What the fuck do you want?” Mandy had fully emerged now, a scowl on her face and her arms crossed. Lip was standing close beside her, either to rein her in or cheer her on – he couldn’t tell yet.

“Mandy.” Tony said her name with a defeated breath. “It’s about your dad.”

Each and every muscle in Ian’s body twisted at the name and he couldn’t help but wince. Fiona threw him a stare that screamed _I know everything_ and he almost ran too. Ian could feel his feet sweat and beg to be used to climb the steps up into his room. The instinct to hide is one so frowned upon which is ironic because they always drill it in your head to survive. But what happens when you have to hide to survive?

“What about my dad?” Mandy’s words were venom, ice that was so cold it would burn your skin instead. And isn’t that just the best oxymoron to exist?

Fiona’s hand twitched and the door closed just a little bit more. Tony pretended not to notice because he would lose. You always lose to love.

“Mandy go upstairs.” His sister’s voice was growing in volume.

Mandy pushed forward away from Lip and visibly grew more erratic. “No I want to know what’s going on.”

Ian saw it happen in slow motion. Each particle expand and burst in a more accurate representation of just how destructive life could be. It made him think of the fish that Carl had micro-waved once. An entire universe quivering and combusting and still you don’t quite look at it slow enough to understand the severity-- the moment when everything changes.

Tony put on his best poker face because no one has ever really cried over spilled evil.

“I’m sorry Mandy, he’s dead.”


	3. Chapter 3

When Mickey was young his mom would come into his room and smoke a cigarette on the corner of his bed. She never asked to come in but then again – he never kicked her out. There was a small part of him that used to warm at the attention, no matter how fleeting or laced in a drug haze, it was nice.

_“Listen to what I’m about to tell you.” Her hand shook as she brought the Marlboro to her bloodied lips. “I do this all for love.” He sat on his hands in an attempt to not reach out for the woman next to him. “Love is the strongest human emotion Michael.”_

_Another drag of smoke and he noticed blood drip down onto his comforter. The cut on her forehead looking jagged and angry and leaving trace evidence of the only love he’d ever known._

_Later that night after Mandy fell asleep curled up between his dresser and closet, Mickey cursed at the spot of blood. His spit doing nothing but making the red bloom in size and he realized that his mother was wrong._

_Because he was 10 and he loved her, but his door was locked against her screaming fists anyway. Because Terry was drunk, and because Mandy was only 8. Because the only thing stronger than love is fear._

The bathroom door swung open with a force that could only be achieved from panic. Fiona closed it tightly shut behind her and stood before him.

“Your dad is dead.” No remorse, no surprise, no infliction at all. She could have just told him that his shoes were untied. “If you take the fall for this, you’ll go away.”

His heel hit the base of the bathtub and the noise echoed around them. “It’s worth it.”

“Is it?” The accusation clear in her voice, “because I’m not talking juvie where you spend sometime serving a time out. I’m talking prison Mickey. This isn’t a joke.”

He chewed down his nails until he was swallowing blood. “You know how people say they’ll take a bullet for someone?” Fiona handed him a wad of toilet paper for his finger. “I think that’s shit. I don’t want anyone taking a bullet for me.”

“Mickey you don’t understa—“

“That’s what Ian is.” He bit back feeling the truth in his words. “He’s a walking target.” He took in a shaky breath. “I’m not gonna let him take any bullets for me.”

Fiona rubbed a hand over her neck and dropped it back down in exasperation. “Well what about you? You think he wants you taking one for him? How do you think he’ll feel?”

“I don’t care.”

“Oh you don’t care?”

“No.” He growled out the word. “I don’t care because if he –“ His eyes closed scrunching so tightly that they hurt. “It would be worse than taking it myself.”

She eyed him carefully. “But you’ll do that to him? You’ll let him feel that?”

Mickey thought back to the wedding. To Ian’s hurt and hopeful eyes darkening with vodka and pain. He thought back to how much it killed him to marry Svetlana and how sick with fear he was knowing that one bad move and he’d be going to sleep with a bullet between his eyes.

But most importantly he thought about how with each surge of rage and pain the red head clawed at both their skin with – he had to breathe to do it.

Ian was breathing and living and that was the answer in and of itself.

He looked Fiona directly in her eyes. “Yes.”

\---

 

 

 

The sun was too bright. Even through his closed eyes Ian felt like he was squinting. An irrational anger began to form in his mind because Todd was supposed to close the blinds before he fell asleep – the blinds were wide open.

Ian rolled over and stared at the man next to him. He wanted to wake him up too. Not because he particularly wanted to talk to him right then but more so for petty vengeance. Because it was his lack of being able to remember the _one_ thing Ian asks that had him up at 7:30 on a Sunday morning. Because why should he get to sleep in if Ian couldn’t?

The floor was cold on his bare feet as he made his way to the kitchen. The smell of bacon in the air now officially the only thing spurring him forward. Todd could thank a pig later for the fight he just barely escaped.

But he wouldn’t, he was a vegetarian.

“What are you doing up?” Mandy smiled at him from behind her computer. Her legs wrapped up underneath her and a cup of coffee steaming near her hand.

He shuffled over to get a cup for himself. “Blinds.”

Mandy laughed. “Ah, Todd’s gonna suffer for that one.” She chewed off a piece of bagel. “How hard is it for someone to remember to close the blinds? It’s like locking the door when you leave.”

Ian shook his head in disbelief and sat down at the table across from her. “I couldn’t even tell you how many fights we’ve had over that alone.” He reached for a piece of bacon off the plate between them. “I mean full blown haven’t talked for days fights.”

Mandy rolled her eyes. “Whatever he’s a pussy anyway.” She typed something out on her keyboard and tilted her head in thought.

“What ya working on?”

She sighed and slumped her shoulders. “Piece on that band I saw the other night.”

“Marco’s band?”

She nodded before starting to type again. “They’re shit but I’m trying to leave that part out.”

He reached for another strip of meat. “I never saw him play. Gail said they were pretty good.”

Mandy scoffed. “Yea and Gail is also half deaf.”

A comfortable silence fell between them with the only noise being Mandy’s fingers tapping against the keys. He kicked his feet up on another chair and leaned his head back. Maybe he could fall asleep again after all.

“And he doesn’t even like bacon!” Mandy exclaimed closing her laptop with a forceful _whack_.

Ian kept his eyes closed trying to focus on blotting out the world. “Who?”

“Todd.” Her chair scraped across the floor and he could hear her walk back to the kitchen counter. “I mean he comes into _our_ apartment criticizing our food and it just—“

Ian opened an eye. “Just what?”

She took a steadying breath before shaking her head quickly and offering a smile. “Nothing. Just ignore me, it’s a shitty day.”

Her hair hung limp and blonde. When they first moved into their tiny two bedroom apartment in New York 3 years ago – that was the first thing she did. Ian had spent all day smoking a pack of cigarettes that he didn’t even want and Mandy walked through the door with tears streaming down her face and _blonde_.

He didn’t ask why she did it because he knew already. Mandy and Mickey had always been confused for twins when they were growing up. It didn’t matter that he was two years older or that she had caked her face with so much makeup she could have been anyone – it was always _those Milkovich twins_.

When their dad died and Mickey disappeared, Mandy wanted to rip out everything that was Milkovich. It took a different state, new hair, a lot of bad sex and some late night tears and even still – Ian’s not sure its helped.

“Did you call his number?” He felt the question irritate his always infected wound. Because it had been three years and he’d tried to put the black haired boy behind him but he couldn’t help scratching at the itch.

Mandy slammed her mug down on the counter and turned quickly to the fridge. “No. There’s no point he never answers. It’s probably not even his number anymore.”

He could hear movement behind the closed door of his room. Todd.

Ian stood up and walked toward the bathroom to take a shower. Mandy’s frame pinched and her shoulders high in tension – he stopped just before closing the door. “I’ll tell Todd he needs to start sleeping at his apartment more.”

She turned and sucked in a rattling breath betraying her attempt to hide grief. “No Ian I wasn’t saying that –“

He held up his hand to stop her. “It’s not you – I just need to wake up to closed blinds for a few days.”

She smiled and nodded.

He turned the faucet on in the shower and reveled in the warm feeling of steam immediately beginning to form at the burning temperature. The water hit his skin like bullets, like target practice.

He leaned his head back against the tiled wall and sighed. Water fell into his mouth and rolled across his tongue while he went to form words to no one.

“Happy birthday Mick.”


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a long time since Mickey held a gun in his hands. Even longer since he fired one. He used to watch his cousins and brothers play russian roulette. Completely engrossed in the way the room would fall into complete silence allowing for the tiny _click_ of an empty round to resonate. The shouts and applause and slaps on the back that followed making him think that they didn’t know what they were cheering for. Dumb luck? A one night stand with death that you were able to walk away from? Having the balls to do it?

When he first fucked another guy after disappearing from Ian’s life without a word, it put a bad taste in his mouth. When the next guy whispered a breathy _Mick_ as he slammed into him it put a gun in his mouth.

The memories of those nights in his living room watching the animals pass around the pistol again and again yelling out _what are you a fag_ flashing through his head like a bad trip and making his hand shake.

He pulled the trigger -- when his skull stayed in one piece there were no applause. No hands grabbing to be the next one in line to give it a go. All he could hear were his owned gasped breaths over the toilet while he threw up every ounce of courage he ever pretended to have.

 

“Get the fuck out!” He growled while tossing the middle aged prick onto his ass in the back alley. “Read the fucking sign there’s no touching the girls.” Mickey spit on the ground next to the man’s head for good measure.

His hands formed tiny guns with each wrist flicking just slightly as if he were really shooting. Old habits die hard.

Another bouncer opened the door to make sure Mickey wasn’t taking things too far. They never said it outright but he could see how they looked at him, the subtle glances whenever a customer started to get a little ballsy and talk back. They thought he was a loose canon.

“You good?” The guys name was Ray – huge and fucking built like a house. Mickey’s pretty sure he could kill someone just by accidentally tripping and falling on them. Ray was 27 and putting himself through nursing school during the day and politely asking people to not rape daddy issued little girls at night.

He thought he was in the wrong line of business.

Mickey squared his shoulders and shoved past Ray back inside. A half hearted and bitter _‘fine’_ being drowned out by the hollers of men going nowhere.

 

 

He usually gets off work at around 3 but feet were hitting the pavement at 1 that night. His boss tried to make it subtle but it was glaringly obvious – they didn’t need another lawsuit and he was having a shitty day.

He always fucking hated birthdays though.

Mickey stopped outside his apartment steps and looked up to the 5th floor. The window toward the corner of the building was lit up with an eerily soft glow. A Sign of life and also a world left for wondering – he flipped on his hood.

His feet always hit the steps in the same way, never on purpose but more so spurred on by a need to retrace something familiar. Humans are most susceptible to pattern, routine – anything to make them feel like they’re not entirely fucking alone. Like if he died tonight, maybe someone would still be able to find his traced of life on those steps proving he existed, even just barely.

Mickey’s apartment was on the 8th floor, almost directly above that window on the corner. Sometimes he would put his ear to the floor to try and hear the bodies moving inside of it. But it never worked, and all he was left with was a rug burn and more on his mind than before.

“ _Harder – fuck – yea Ah—“_

He slammed his hand against the wall. “Shut the fuck up!”

The moans did nothing but get louder.

His phone was lying on the kitchen counter blinking erratically at him. Missed calls – the only day a year he gets them. And he knows it, knows to leave it at home and turn off the sound to ignore the ring proving that he has people that he misses.

Mandy’s voice rang sadly in his ears. _“Hey. It’s your birthday and I’m –“_ Her voice hitched and he could almost feel the breath she let out. _“I’m calling because I’m an idiot and you’re an asshole and somehow that still doesn’t stop me.”_ Click.

Mickey reached for a beer and sat down to drain the whole thing. Mandy always caved first – every year she was the first to call. It had started off with a tearful plea to tell her where he was which then was quickly followed by a rage over his abandonment.

But this is worst of all because now she just can’t let go.

“Look who’s talking.” He mumbled to himself before throwing the bottle across the room and getting up for another. The second message – the second missed call knocking on his life, _that_ was the one that terrified him.

He pressed play with clammy fingers and opened another bottle. “ _Hey.”_ Ian’s voice paused and Mickey closed his eyes. _“I hope you’re doing okay.”_

Short and sweet and to the point. The most fatal wounds were usually like that.

He plunged his hand into his pocket and fished out the pack of cigarettes inside. Plucking out a single one he walked to the balcony and breathed in a steady stream of smoke.

The city looked sad and it made Mickey smile. Because it wasn’t bullshitting him, it was unable to disguise itself. Blinking lights going on and off in buildings that are both full of people giving up and sobbing while pulling themselves back up to face another hour of reality.

It’s sort of funny. He left the Southside and ended up in it’s exact parallel. New York City – teaming with people dirt poor and shitty like he’d always known. The type of people who can only tell things apart by blood type because blood is what they know and a transfusion may seem more intimate than a kiss.

The front door to the building complex slammed and he watched a man storm down the steps shrugging on a jacket that looked more akin to a fucking Halloween costume.

Todd turned to look back up at the windows and Mickey raised his beer to him. A salute to the scorned man. He waved back and rolled his eyes trying to convey some sort of camaraderie. _You feel me man right?_

He smiled and took another drag of the cigarette. The knowledge that he knew who Todd was but he didn’t know Mickey was one of pure ecstasy. Really Mickey was pretty sure he’d never felt so fucking pleased with himself before.

3 years and only 3 floors away – if Ian and Mandy hadn’t noticed now he was sure that they never would. Todd was no threat to him. He was so desperate to get on Ian’s good side lately that he’s sure the last thing he’d mention would be the man on the balcony upstairs.

You know what they say after all – the best place to hide is in plain sight.  


	5. Chapter 5

Mandy always had really shitty taste in literally everything. Food, music, clothes, guys, tv shows – absolutely fucking everything.

When they were younger she went on a kick with some defunct 90s teen vampire drama. Their dad wouldn’t have it – put his foot through the tv as soon as she started to watch it regularly.

There had been a moment of satisfaction that flickered through Mickey’s chest as he watched the brooding vampire and weirdly super powered blonde teen fade to sparks and shattered glass. But Mandy cried – whole heartedly sobbed complete with heaving chests and erratic panic that made him wonder if she was going to just die right then and there.

So Mickey stole a stupid ass dvd player and hooked it up to his stupid ass tv. It was typical that this was how it ended up because now Mickey was actually forced to watch every single episode of that shit with her. It was always a late night, secret meeting because if their dad ever found out he’s sure he’d kick both their asses.

 _“He’s the dumbest piece of shit ever.”_ _Mickey grabbed for the crust of Mandy’s pizza and shoved it in his mouth._

_She hit and shushed him all in one move. It was impressive. “Shut the fuck up.”_

_He rolled onto his back feeling every lump in his mattress. Mandy was staring intently at the screen. Her knees brought up to her face in her position on the floor and – was that a fucking tear? Is she crying?_

_The tv droned on with the vampire lurking in the corner and going on about having the short end of the stick. How it was harder to be on the outside looking in – harder to be the one aware of him and the teenage girl’s proximity than her never knowing he was there._

_It was stupid. He hated the fucking show._

Mickey watched from his balcony as Ian left out the front steps. An ache clawing at his chest proving to challenge anything he’s ever felt before. He ground out his cigarette and hated himself for it – for everything, for thinking about that show and about how he _got_ _it_.

He finally understood what it meant to be the one outside looking in. The pain that comes with the knowledge of watching and never doing – of wanting something so much and having that be the sole reason why you never actually make a move.

So he hated himself, a little bit. He could admit that. Because life for him had become like trying to tell someone about a dream you had. You never know where it started or why some people morph in and out but it’s ok, and the room is shifting but – don’t worry that’s normal.

All that ever mattered was the part that made you wake up in a cold sweat and he could say what that was. Could tell you how red hair is the only common feature in every ghost he’s ever seen.

It was light out now, he’d been up all night.

The birds were going off like they’d been paid to make just the right amount of noise to make you want to kill them. Mickey didn’t hate birds – mostly he could ignore them. Except it was that weird little _pattern_ that they did. A perfect collection of notes in just the right order to make you feel on edge, to make you not trust the silence.

He ran a thumb over the scar punched into his thigh. The first bullet he took for Ian. His apartment smelled weird and the thought to take out the trash was tempting enough but sleep was pulling at his eyelids.

Mickey ripped off his clothes and kept his hand in place with the wound wondering exactly when his scars switched from horror to peace.

\---

“Guess who’s standing outside of your building right now.”

Ian dropped the glass he was holding and cursed while watching it shatter at his feet. A woman walked past the door leading to the back of the bar and rolled her eyes at him. The look of _gross even the staff is drunk_ obvious in her eyes.

He clutched his phone closer to his ear. “No Lip no. Don’t go in.”

Ian could hear a siren pass by his brother on the other end. “Why the fuck not!”

He turned around and reached for a broom. “Because Mandy will stab you in your face, chop off your balls – cook them for dinner and then skin me for letting you in in the first place.”

His boss jabbed his head around the corner motioning for Ian to hang up and get back out to the bar.

“This is bullshit.” Lip mumbled. “It’s your apartment too she doesn’t run the place.”

“Just promise me you wont go in.” He hung up and offered his boss an apology. Luckily Ian was his best employee so he wasn’t too worried about being fired – at least not until he did something _really_ wrong.

The bar was a dive, nestled between a crumbled movie theater and some cheap restaurant that Ian was about 88% sure was just a front for a prostitution ring. The leggy girls dressed in outfits just _too_ tight to be worn for dinner always dropped in late ordering round after round. A whiskey neat to help them forget about the fact that they were smarter than most people for not getting caught but treated like dumb trash because sex was their job. He always found that concept interesting – never really knew where his opinion lied in the matter.

“Jessica –“ He smiled at the tall brunette with pin straight hair. “Usual?”

She rolled her eyes and lit up a cigarette before leaning her head on the bar. “Make it a double. Extra idiotic night.”

Ian placed the drink down before her and checked the clock. 2am.

He was praying that Lip would just listen to him for once. Would just find himself a bar close by the apartment to fuck around in until Ian could meet up with him.

His brother had visited him exactly 3 times since he ducked out of Chicago. Usually it was Ian going to see him and not the other way around. And after Lip and Mandy got back together just to break up even more catastrophically than they did the first time it just seemed to make more sense.

But Lip was a little shit. Ian could admit that about his brother. He loved him and would die for him but Mandy was his best friend scorned. There was no changing the fact that Lip had little to no understanding of holding on to someone good for him instead of leaching onto a quick painful fuck. It took Mandy finding lipstick on his shirt just once and she was gone.

Jessica lifted her head and placed her chin on her palm. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Ian poured himself a drink and refilled hers. “Idiot brother showing up a day early.” He winced as the alcohol burned down his throat. “Didn’t get the chance to tell my roommate.”

“They care that much?” She quirked an eyebrow and sipped on the glass with a type of steel classiness most people strived to have.

“They do when your roommate is your best friend and said stupid brother’s cheated on ex girlfriend.”

A cop car raced by outside the bar doors. He tensed until the sound faded far enough away that he was sure they weren’t going to turn around and come back. Jessica looked at him a frown pulling at her mouth

“Is it bad?”

Ian scoffed and grabbed for the bottle again. “Usually she has time to stay somewhere else and avoid him but I don’t know what’ll happen tonight.”

She took another sip. Her lipstick left a shadow of color on the glass and her cigarette mostly just burning down without being smoked – she shook her head. “I mean whatever you’re running from.”

He was taken aback, a sudden unfurling of fear growing in his stomach. “What makes you think I’m running from something?”

Another girl from next door walked in and waved her down. He thinks her name is Amanda – pretty but young. Too young.

Jessica stomped out the ash on the Parliament and shrugged her shoulders before turning away.

“I don’t know, you just got the look.”


	6. Chapter 6

“You know it’s not that I don’t think I might have – had an _indiscretion_.” Lip mumbled around the cigarette in his mouth. “It’s just that I think it’s been 3 years and this is getting a little ridiculous.”

Ian shook his head and laughed. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you. Hell everyone warned you.”

He waved him off. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Debbie made a power point about it.”

His brother grabbed for the beer that Ian had swiped from work and took a swig. “Yea whatever.”

Ian called Mandy just before leaving the bar to give her a heads up and if the tone of her voice said anything it said homicide. He decided to give her a few hours to hole up in her room and make sure she had everything she needed because he knew this game.

She wasn’t coming out until Lip was gone.

“How’s Fi?”

Lip shrugged his shoulders. “Same as always I guess. Misses you.”

“She ever come clean about what happened that night?” Ian dodged his eyes back out to the passing cars trying to maintain a sense of nonchalance.

Lip’s feet stuttered on the sidewalk before stopping altogether. “What night?”

He scratched at the back of his neck suddenly feeling oddly exposed. “You know with Mickey and everything that happened – his dad.”

“Jesus Ian –“ Lip’s eyes betrayed his attempt at seeming unalarmed. “You—“ He lowered his voice and sighed. “You really need to let that go man.”

_Mandy’s legs gave out from underneath her at Tony’s words. Fiona pushed him further back out the front mumbling about coming back tomorrow and slammed the door. It felt like he was in one of those giant paintings you have to study and analyze in school. Where so many people are doing different things and it was your job to figure out the metaphor._

_So which one was he? The betrayer? Standing in the corner watching people scramble, sweat beading on his back and blood on his hands. He felt sick._

_Fiona took the stairs two at a time and Ian followed blindly. She didn’t even notice him skidding to a halt outside the bathroom door as she locked him out of it._

_Mickey barged out after no more than 10 minutes and knocked directly into his shoulder. A violent pain crawled along the bruises coloring him underneath his shirt and the blue eyes followed each one._

_Ian sucked in a breath to keep himself from screaming and Mickey just continued to stare. He let his fingers hover above Ian’s abdomen before slowly dragging them around to his lower back. The motion made him dizzy and he wasn’t even sure if Mickey was actually even touching him._

_But then the pain blossomed anew – another surge worse than the first because he couldn’t look away from those eyes as Mickey pushed his knuckles deeper into his skin._

_Ian cried the next night when he disappeared. Tracing over the outline of his final bruise and tearing himself apart over whether or not it was a goodbye kiss or one last ‘fuck you’._

They made small talk the rest of the way to the apartment. Ian asking about the family and Lip asking about his job. He seemed very interested in Ian’s theory about the prostitutes next door but he could only half listen to anything coming from his brother’s mouth. The memory of Mickey feeling fresh and aching and taking up every last bit of energy he had.

“Hey let’s go out and do something.” Lip stood at the bottom steps with his hands shoved in his pockets. Ian was already half way to the door.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” his brother started. “Anything. I’m hungry, you hungry?” He wasn’t. “Let’s go get food or something I mean I never come here. I want to take full advantage of some big city living.”

Ian could feel the pull of his bed calling to him. Could already safely say that he was not in the mood to go out unless it was to get very very drunk. But the amount of drinks it would take for him to forget about everything laughing at him in his head would kill him and he couldn’t die just yet.

He looked down at his shirt and could smell all the sad drunks on it. “Let me just run up and change.” Lip clapped his hands in victory and started to run up to join him. Ian reached out a hand and pushed against his chest. “You wait here.”

Mandy could still be awake.

\---

_There was blood all over the floor and on his hands. Mickey could see the knife glinting from a lamp that had crashed in the fight._

_“What did you do?” A voice was screaming at him. Ian – it was always Ian screaming at him in his dreams._

_He looked up to see that he was standing in front of a mirror and he gasped at the sight. Because it wasn’t him anymore, he was on the other side now, looking in –_

_Red hair and red blood all drying together. Mickey is screaming at him begging him asking him ‘Ian what the hell did you do?’_

He woke up with the scream still in his throat. It cut off his air for 3 seconds past the point of it not being scary. The clock read 3:37 and he punched his hands repeatedly down onto either side of his mattress.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” The words becoming breathier and more strangled the more he went on.

He could hear people arguing outside his window and Mickey ripped the pillow out from under his head to over his face in an attempt to drown them out. Not to suffocate himself – he swears.

“Get the fuck off of me!!”

The woman’s voice sent him shooting up and practically crashing through his balcony doors. Mandy.

Down below Mickey could see her blonde hair whipping as she pushed past the man shrouded in darkness. He couldn’t see his face in the night and with each move she made he dodged back to block her.

For the first time since he moved in, Mickey didn’t take 20 minutes of snooping around each corner. He didn’t canvas each floor and then make for the most out of the way exit in an attempt to avoid running into Ian Gallagher, he _sprinted_.

The building doors crashed open with a loud _bang_ and Mandy was screaming now –shrill and hysterical reminding him of when he used to knock down her block towers. The man looked up toward him and Mickey didn’t bother to study his features. His whole body reacted wildly with a punch to the guys face and the crunch of bone nearly got him off right then and there.

Mickey’s hearing is always the first thing to go when he throws himself completely into something. Some people it’s their vision and the world blurs fading into spotty blacks, but not him. His ears started ringing and he could hear people yelling at him but their words were lost. Like someone trying to speak under water and you’re grabbing them and shaking because you can only hear bubbles.

A car passed and the headlights shone on both their faces when he paused – somewhere under water the man spoke.

“Mickey?” But he couldn’t really hear him and then something seared painfully into his side.

Mickey let go of the body beneath him and turned slowly grabbing for the wound. He stared curiously down at his blood soaked hand. It was exactly like his dream.

“Oh my god –“ Mandy stared wide-eyed, so much so she looked dumb. “Holy shit oh my god.” The tiny knife fell from her fingers and clattered onto the cement. “Mickey?”

Tears were starting to spill over her eyes at an alarming rate and he just really hoped he wouldn’t die before he could tell her just how much he really hated her hair.


	7. Chapter 7

He felt it before he even went to look. He _heard_ it. The soft whimpers accompanying agonizing grunts and the way he tries to growl more so because he doesn’t want you to hear the pain in his voice. It was exactly like when he’d been shot – twice.

Ian’s hands were gripped so tightly on either side of his dresser that it hurt more to let go. Each tendon and bit of bone screamed in protest because it was safer here, holding onto the guardrails. His stomach rolled and he had a moment of being 6 years old and wanting to call out for Fiona.

Because a monster was under his bed and in his closet and inside his skin making a home for itself. But this monster, he never looked it in the eyes. And the fear crawling around inside of him making him sick was that Mickey’s eyes would show him only one thing –

That he wasn’t the monster, and the only thing whispering scary words into the night was Ian. The dealer and the dealt hand to his own crippling fears.

Mandy was short-circuiting next to the body on the couch. Her hands flitting back and forth like she could somehow fix it with a magic word. The stench of blood – which was unmistakable – began to cloud Ian’s senses and he closed his eyes to lean his head against the doorframe.

He could feel Mickey’s eyes on him, watching him.

“Oh my god Mickey I’m so sorry oh my god –“ Mandy’s words sounded on a loop and he really wished she’d shut up. Let him take in the moment in peace. Because you never realize how much you miss it and how easily you let it slip past you – when you’ve found something all over again.

A hand fell on his shoulder and Ian snapped his eyes open feeling almost like he’d fallen asleep. Lip furrowed his eyebrows. “You okay?”

“Hm?” Ian clapped his own hand over his brothers and smiled. “Course.”

He walked to the couch and leaned over to see the red seeping into their cushions. Mickey’s proof of existence, always stains on Ian’s skin and clothes and now his couch. He was angry at how casually he left himself behind in pieces to be missed.

“You just gonna fucking stare or are you gonna help me before I bleed out?” His jaw was tight; the words were ground out and tense. It was obvious he was in pain and Ian wanted to press his finger right into the wound and leave _his_ mark this time.

But the water lingering just barely over Mickey’s blue eyes stopped him. Because he can only appreciate pain as much there is pleasure on the other side of it. “Keep pressure on it.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yes I fucking know to keep pressure on it.”

_“Yes I fucking know I got shot.”_

Ian smiled and walked over to the drawer full of random shit they didn’t know what to do with. It seemed fitting somehow.

Lip was still standing by the doorway to Ian’s room watching his every movement. A look in his eye that said all he needed, Ian didn’t even feel the need to ask about it. He was worried about him.

“What are you doing?” Mandy looked wildly in his direction. Pure panic etched on her face. “Are you helping?”

“Bitch you’re the one who should be helping!” Mickey ground out before reeling away from her instinctual punch.

She gasped and went back to apologizing. “Oh my god I’m so sorry!”

“What happened?” Ian’s voice croaked and felt dry.

Lip finally moved and walked around to the kitchen table. There was left over food from before he went off to work that night. Stale bread and cold coffee.

“Mandy stabbed him for me.” A self-satisfying grin played at his mouth. “She clearly cares enough to not want someone randomly killing me on the streets of New York City.”

She whipped her head around. “Who said I was aiming for him?”

Mickey threw his head back in a bout of pain and Ian watched transfixed. He could feel everything the man before him felt. Like they were implanted into each other. Genes and DNA mixing to make something wicked and twisted and non-functioning.

What happens when the one thing in the world that makes it worth living is the thing that will kill you. Were they all on one grand kamikaze mission? Love me, kill me, leave me and take me with you all at once.

“Here—“ Ian moved around to Mickey with an old rag and a roll of masking tape. He thought the rag was clean – clean enough.

He sucked in a breath in preparation for the contact. Ian stopped just inches over the bloodied shirt, the hem already curled up from where Mandy had first tried to get a better look. His fingers shook, just a little, just enough to make him feel young.

“Is that gonna make it infected?” Mickey’s eyes darted to the rag in his hand.

He felt like it was a loaded question. “I don’t think so.”

Mandy was too out of her mind to notice anything happening – she’d always been blissfully unaware. But Lip was practically screaming in the silence. His entire presence being a reminder to Ian that this was happening and this was significant. Because his brother was a witness now, it was no longer only Ian mumbling a name in his sleep to have it be lost on Todd’s ears. He guessed he should be thankful Todd never said anything about it, but he wondered how he could miss it.

Should it have said enough that the man sleeping next to him didn’t understand he wasn’t who Ian dreamt about?

Mickey’s shirt stuck in odd places again his skin. The air drying the blood faster than anyone was trying to clean it up. It was a shallow cut, but those were always the worst anyway. They made more of a mess. Because once you’re skewered deep enough there gets to a point when you’re just bleeding inside and filling up with it, people can’t see the damage that way.

“Ow fuck!” Mickey’s word spit onto Ian’s skin. A droplet of saliva that now felt like the most important thing in the room rested near his neck.

Lip lit up a cigarette. “Where did you even come from?”

Ian saw Mickey’s hand reflexively reach out just slightly for his own as he dabbed the rag against mangled flesh. His finger’s hung in the air for seconds before slamming back down to the couch and digging into the fabric even harder than before. He was going to rip it.

“Fuck off.”

_“What’s going on?” Fiona was sitting on the counter drinking a beer. It had been three days since he’d last seen Mickey and she had been one of the last people to talk to him._

_A piece of hair fell into her eyes. “What do you mean?”_

_His blood boiled. “What’s going on Fiona?”_

_She took another sip. Her shoulders were slumped further down than what could have been comfortable. She was probably fucking up her back._

_“Where were you the other night Ian?”_

_No. This is not what was happening. She wasn’t going to turn this back around on him. That’s not why he brought it up._

_“Don’t change the subject.” He could feel himself cracking. Wavering in his anger and becoming more desperate. “Please.”_

_“You ever hear that quote about how if two people try and kill a guy which one is responsible for it?” The air seemed to feel thicker in the room all of a sudden. “Like if a guy goes out into the desert with a canteen of water –“ The beer was empty now. “And one guy poisons the water, but another guy pokes a hole in the canteen – who killed him?”_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_Fiona put her head in her hand and shook it back and forth. The thoughts in her mind practically clanging together audibly. “Who killed him Ian? If he dies of thirst but it was poisoned anyway – who killed him?”_

He ripped off pieces of tape and haphazardly fixed enough of a bandage onto the pale skin to be satisfied that Mickey wouldn’t pass out.

“You should probably go the hospital.” Ian hoped that his voice didn’t waver as much as it felt like it was.

“No.” Mickey turned his head into the crook of the couch and cringed one more time.

They all sat in silence. Nothing but the sound of an occasional bite of pain from Mickey and an anxious sigh from Mandy escaped their lips. Ian got up and walked to the refrigerator. The blood on his hand mixed with the condensation from the beer he grabbed for and made it look like the bottle was bleeding. Dripping down ominously and pooling back into his palm, he thought back to Fiona.

Back to the question that had been kicking around his mind since she first said it. Who’s fault would it be? Who killed the guy?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is inspired and dedicated to my wonderful story telling anon on tumblr. Idk if you're even reading this story but if you are then know that you're inspiring me daily.

_“Do you ever wonder what our lives would be like if one thing had been different?” Mickey sucked hard on the cigarette between his lips. Sweat slipped down his neck and Ian wasn’t sure if it was because of the heat or the sex._

_Ian rolled his shoulders and heard a pop. “Like what?”_

_The silence that followed made him regret his words. Because Mickey liked to talk – he really did, he just didn’t like to be pushed._

_Mickey breathed out slowly and he tried to measure the seconds. “Like if my dad didn’t want to fucking kick my face in.”_

_His eyes shifted and flitted over Ian’s face momentarily. More quickly than that, they went back down to the ground where his sneaker kicked violently into the dirt._

_He wondered what was so offensive down there._

In all his time of knowing Mickey, Ian can pinpoint the exact moments when he has looked entirely at peace. He can recite them to you in chronological order – there aren’t that many.

The first time had been the most fleeting and Ian will admit that he missed it. He only was able to understand after seeing that look in Mickey’s eyes for a _second_ time. Could only then realize that he had seen it before, like a ghost.

So he has it down to a science now– the precise moment when serenity both invades and escapes Mickey. The calm that cloaks his eyes the moments after they’ve both gotten off, still connected lingering and panting; the laughter that falls out of his mouth like something that’s been kept hostage – when he sleeps and dreams and they’re _not_ nightmares.

Those are the moments that Ian understands, that he wants to save and gather together and help him build a new man out of. He wants to salvage Mickey’s peace.

And that’s why, right now, he knows that Mickey is not asleep. Because his eyelids are scrunched and twitching and would be just as convincing if they were wide open.

Ian lights up another cigarette and puffs out a stream of smoke aimed closer to Mickey’s face than anyone would ever dare. “Why are you doing this?”

His eyelids jumped in attempted stillness, he was trying too hard. It didn’t look natural.

The phone next to Ian’s thigh binged intrusively loud.  
  
 ** _Todd_** _: Can I come over?  
 **Ian:** No._

He rubbed the heels of his hands hard over his eyes and sucked in a sigh. The urge to cry became overwhelming as he shakily put his still lit cigarette into the ashtray and went back to his room.

Ian watched from the crack in the door as Mickey rolled over and continued smoking it.

\---

The worst thing about waking up in Gallagher’s apartment wasn’t that he was there; it was that he had definitely lost a lot of blood and was no doubt not going anywhere.

Mickey’s entire body ached in a way that only something connected with your heart could manage to accomplish. Each limb heavy while being frail and light and skinnier all at once -- it was bullshit.

He didn’t want to open his eyes. Some asshole had left all the shades open in the living room. He couldn’t fucking understand people who did that, it’s like locking the door behind you when you leave. You just do it.

So now he was sure he was going to be paler than normal because of the blood loss and the goddamn sun that was shining far to bright and happily than necessary was going to make him _pink_.

A sick pink ghost with a gut wound. That’s what he’d been reduced to.

“Look at us, working together like respectable psychopaths.”

Mickey heard the clatter of a plate in the sink and winced. His head was pounding without the added noise.

Mandy’s voice hissed in a half whisper. “We are not working together. This is all your fault anyways!”

“ _What_?” The older Gallagher fired back. “My fault? You’re the one that stabbed your own brother.”

“Just shut up and make him some toast.” She sniffled, Mandy was still crying.

He didn’t want toast. Those fuckers were wasting bread and time and breath and butter and electricity for the goddamn toaster because he wasn’t going to eat their pity toast.

He was just fine, he just needed to remake some blood and then he’d be gone and out of their lives forever.

Aka, watching from upstairs.

Mickey heard the fridge open and the shake of orange juice. Lip started to speak again, quieter this time – more concerned. “Is Ian still sleeping?”

The sink turned on and then off. “Yea.”

“I’m worried about him.”

Mickey hesitantly opened one of his eyes to a slit, but he still couldn’t see them. The back of the couch blocked his view just enough.

Mandy shuffled around to the table next to him and he quickly went back to fake sleeping. Her hand reached out to touch his side and he tried hard to not inch away from her.

“He seems okay. Just a little surprised. I mean I am too we haven’t seen him in years.” Her words trailed off at the end of the sentence making him feel enough like their mother he could have puked. Abandoning just to show up again – maybe it was genetic.

Lip dropped a plate down on the table callously and without consideration. “He said something to me last night that’s got me – I don’t know.”

What? “What?”

He sighed and Mickey strained his ears. “He brought up that night, you know when your dad—He asked me if Fiona ever came clean about what happened.”

“What’s that supposed to even mean?” Mandy took a step back away from Mickey and he was thankful. Because he understood the tenderness in her touch but it still hurt like a bitch.

“I don’t know. He thinks she’s hiding something that went down between her and Mickey.” Lip paused and he could hear his thoughts pounding against his brain. Being a genius sometimes isn’t enough now is it? “I don’t know it’s all weird. I thought he would have gotten over it by now but, I guess not.”

They stopped talking and went back to fussing around the kitchen. He didn’t want to be taken care of, especially by any one of the 3 people currently in the apartment.

Mickey had felt dizzy after smoking Ian’s cigarette the night before. The contact – however indirect – had been intoxicating. And it made him sick. Because how is he supposed to ever get over that? It was terrifying, knowing how out of control he was to himself. The cause and effect of pain and misery. How can you kill what you’re made up of?

Cutting Ian out of him would be suicide, but keeping him situated and leaching from his blood – unrequited – it was far worse.

Even the mention of his name was getting to him

“Did you ever find out where he was that night?” Mandy’s voice sounded again, smaller and more nervous this time.

“Who Ian?” Lip questioned. “No. He never said.”

“He was hurt pretty bad.”

“Yea I know.”

Mandy cleared her throat. “Do you think it’s bad?”

“I woke up that night you know.” Lip paused and Mickey could imagine him checking to see that Ian wasn’t listening. “I heard the shower going and Ian was –“ He took a steadying breath. “I don’t know what happened to him but he was really messed up. Blood everywhere – covered in bruises. I’ve tried to not think the worst this whole time but I just can’t help it.” He paused again and poured another glass of something. “I scrubbed the bathtub after he passed out on the couch. Tried to play it cool the next morning but he’s definitely hiding something. Has been for a while.”

Mickey bit his lip hard to try and stop the inevitable but it wasn’t enough. The images of Ian bruised and bloody blinding him as he rolled off to the side of the couch and threw up on the floor.

The toast eyed him mockingly – _bitch I bet you want me now._

He did.


	9. Chapter 9

_Iggy had busted through the front door like the devil himself was after him. His hands shaky messes as he threw open the cabinet and reached for a gun. The fucker couldn’t even load it he was so on edge._

_“The fuck is wrong with you?” Mickey eyed him over a bowl of cereal. The last bowl of fruit loops which Mandy was no doubt gonna skin him over._

_His brother turned wild aiming the gun at Mickey’s head and he ducked under the table missing a stray bullet that wouldn’t have hit him anyways._

_“Jesus Mickey!” Iggy yelled at him like it was his fault he’d almost shot him. “What are you doing here?”_

_He sat under the table eyes screwed shut counting each pulse that threatened to tear through his skin. “Are you gonna shoot at me again?”_

_The clunk of the revolver hit the wood above his head and he peeked back over seeing that the bowl was now a shattered mess of milk and soggy rainbows. He didn’t have the luxury of being worried about getting shot at, but he could mourn his breakfast._

_“Best way to kill someone is a bullet between the eyes.” Iggy jammed a finger against his own face like he was the victim. “Best fucking way. Clean and to the point.”_

_It wasn’t directed toward Mickey. This was what Iggy did – talked aloud like saying it would fix it and he really was a coward. More than the rest of them. Puked the first time he got stabbed and actually cried when their mom left._

_It was funny because Iggy didn’t even know her first name._

_Mickey pulled his chair up off the ground and sat down while eyeing the trigger as if by some great karmic surge it would magically pull and lodge a bullet into his brain._

_“You wanna know the best way to kill someone?” He didn’t know why he was saying it, Iggy wouldn’t get it and it was Mickey’s best-kept secret. But maybe that’s why he was the best to tell, because he was a fucking idiot. “You make them do it themselves.”_

_His brother’s ragged teeth shone through a curled sneer. “How the hell do you do that?”_

_Sirens could be heard gaining volume down their street and he wondered if they were coming for them._

_“If you have to ask then you’ve already fucking failed.”_

 

Ian was all muscle. Even when he wasn’t, he was. He used to work out like a madman and Mickey would roll his eyes at him because what’s the point in running if there’s not something chasing you? And maybe that’s why he still managed to stay relatively in shape without ever doing stupid fucking marine drills, but still Ian insisted upon them.

When he got the flu a few winters back he was a whiney little bitch – couldn’t work out for days and sat eating fucking poptarts. Not even the good kind with the frosting just plain blueberry poptarts.

Mickey swears that even during that week of crumbs and awkward jelly fingerprints Ian got more in shape. He was just that kind of asshole, the kind that didn’t need to try but still did. The worst kind of perfect.

“You’re shaking.”

He clenched his jaw against each chill and buried back further into the couch to calm each tremor. Ian stood before him in worn sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He didn’t bother to put on a shirt and it pissed him off because it wasn’t fair.

And it wasn’t like putting an alcoholic before the best whiskey it was more like putting a broken arm between a vice just to see how much more they could crush it. When are you gonna call uncle? When are you gonna admit that you’ve finally had enough?

“He’s been puking all morning.” Mandy walked over placing a hand on Ian’s bare arm and gave him a cup of coffee. He smiled warmly and Mickey doubled over again. “I’m worried it’s because he lost so much blood.”

“Oh fuck off—“ He gagged and choked on air, his stomach offering nothing else to expel. “You’re giving yourself too much credit.”

 His sister’s eyes clouded with more emotions than he’d thought she was even able to feel. “You’re being really unfair Mickey.”

There it was again, that fucking word that kicked around his head at the sight of Ian and each scar dug deep into his flesh. Unfair. What was fair? They weren’t fair. Constantly scratching at each other’s skin and stabbing your own sibling. Hiding away and ignoring calls just to tell yourself that it’s okay because you can’t handle it so now they have to. Fair is fucking fair is unfair and it was time to suck it up.

Ian sighed letting the muscles in his chest twitch with the exhale. “Where’s Lip?”

“Out.” Mandy bit the word. “Somewhere, I don’t know I don’t care he’s _your_ brother.”

Mickey smiled. “You should—“ He tried to swallow it down but it’s just like when you start laughing at a funeral. “You should hit him with your car.”

He sat there damn near laughing and jammed his fist between his teeth to cut off the sound. Maybe he had lost too much blood.

Ian made a valiant effort to not find humor in the words. He screwed his mouth up trying to pass the motion off as itching his nose but it was a smile, a fucking _laugh_.

“That’s not funny.” Mandy huffed.

Ian slung an arm around her shoulder drawing her frail angry body in closer to his skin. Mickey’s laughter cut off as he thought about how it felt to touch him.

Sharp knocks started on their door and Mandy used the opportunity to pull away. Mickey shuddered again with a new shock of chills and Ian took one silent step forward. He could feel the air start to buzz around them and when the red head leaned over to pull a blanket around Mickey’s shoulder – his fingers made sure to _just_ not connect. And that was worse.

He grabbed with each tattooed _fuck u-up_ to cling to the blanket tighter like the last salvation he had. Ian just stared, a million thoughts screaming in his head and being lost on his lips.

“Ian?” Mandy turned her head and Mickey could see it on her face. “Umm Todd is here.” The last word had been reduced to a whisper, the ugly secret of having some type of evidential life beyond great love.

“What?” Ian’s chest tightened again and Mickey turned away from it all.

The door opened further revealing the man he’d seen so many times from upstairs. The same man he’d constructed stories and ideas about – the asshole who was afraid of the dark and waxed his back and hadn’t spoken to his perfectly nice mother in years. At least that’s what Mickey liked to think.

Todd offered a smile, “Hey.”

The voice grated on him and before he even realized it he was puking again. The soft forming of the words, it made him sick. Because there’s a distinct taste of disgust that being desperately needy for something not real puts in your mouth.

Ian moved away from him and the room felt colder. Mickey kept his head turned away toward the bucket Mandy had planted there an hour ago and closed his eyes because Todd couldn’t see him, couldn’t recognize him.

But more importantly, he couldn’t see Ian touch him.

“What are you doing here?”

A shuffle of feet worked their way across the floor and he silently thanked his sister for not closing the door. The famous Milkovich notion of saying _fuck off you’re not welcome_.

“I hadn’t heard from you and I was getting worried.”

Worried? As if he needed to worry about Ian. Ian who could kill you in your sleep or in the time it took you to blink. Ian who was the most dangerous kind of villain because he’ll jam his hands inside you to feel around for what makes you tick first.

“I – uh I told you’ve I’ve been busy.”

That’s when the silence pressed in on him. When all other parties ceased to speak and Mickey looked back out toward the window thinking that reality was relative anyways so if he just didn’t make a sound or look maybe it would be okay. He could fade into invisibility like when he’d plaster Mandy against the wall in their house in times of an especially violent eruption. He’d used his body to make her disappear. To keep her safe from the harsh fists and pricks of rage that punched cocaine into his system with each laced knuckle and deep cut. She had become invisible to Terry during those moments.

But then again, no one was standing before him and taking the hits. No one wanted to use their body for his sense of transparency.

And as the seconds ticked by and Mickey counted to 100 he knew that it was over. Todd fucking saw him – _knew_ that he was hiding out upstairs smoking cigarettes at midnight and mocking him with smiles.

Fuck Todd, he knew he never liked him.


	10. Chapter 10

Ian sometimes wonders why he ends up in the situations he does because he can _see_ them happening before and during and after. The entire scenario splayed out almost as a map for him -- for what he should avoid but _still_ , he can never walk away in time.

And maybe it’s that there is some part of him that wants to be called out on it. Because he sits and smiles and shoves the better part of himself under a rug with a paper cut on his hand that is all that’s left to show for it. People want a disaster; they beg and roll around in their sleep for something that will pull their feet out from under them because it’s something to do. Misery loves company and Ian can look at his hands and see all these damn paper cuts and he is miserable –

But no one is looking at his hands and his face won’t let him give it away.

Mickey moved sending a shock of electricity through his body and Ian turned away from Todd’s vacant anger.

“What are you doing?”

The piercing blue eyes looked lack luster as they rolled around in their sockets and avoided a gaze longer than 5 consecutive seconds. “I’m gonna go.” A slight hiss of pain worked its way through his body and Ian wondered if Mickey has audibly gasped or if he could just feel the tendrils of the man reaching out to wrap around his own bones.

He thinks he read that somewhere – being able to feel someone else’s physical sensations. Either that or he was just so far gone that it wasn’t even worth the worry anymore.

“No! What?” Mandy’s eyes bugged from her head and Ian could feel his heart race. “You can’t go are you crazy? You need to sit and relax and get better and Mickey you can’t _leave_ –“ It was the worst kind of plea. The one that reveals you more than your challenger.

As Mickey moved, his shirt stuck in awkward bits – dried blood pulling at the fabric in motions disguised to make you think this was fine. “No I’m good. I’m gonna go.”

“No wait—“ Mandy walked over placing her palms desperately over his chest.

Mickey looked singed by the contact and his eyes briefly fired a stare Ian knew well. “Get the fuck off me—“ His body ripped away.

 

_“Get the fuck off me!” The gravel underneath their feet felt rocky and oddly appropriate. He couldn’t get his footing quite right and each time Mickey pulled away from him the world tipped. Each man left with nothing but frayed nerves and intentions stabbed to bits because they were good and right and leading them straight to hell._

_“Oh you wanna fag bash?” His words made him shake. “Will that make you feel like a man?”_

 

Ian bunched his hands into fists as the memory of being thrown from Mickey’s grasp danced around the same words. He could still feel his sweater – the stray bits of fabric that got caught in a chip in his nail and even back then. He was pulling pieces of him off to take and make his.

Mickey gave his sister one last look and Ian could tell you that he was trying to apologize to her. But he didn’t. He kicked at the blanket tangled around his foot and walked right past her instead.

Todd’s eyes beady and narrowed watched with a disdain that Ian had to wonder whether it was rooted in his character verses the circumstance.

“Are you coming back?” The crack in Mandy’s voice took the air out of the room. “Mickey?”

His hand lingered on their door and Ian could see his fingers play on it. Tapping in an incessant beat of such clear meaning. The twitch of indecision to go with what you should do and what you want to do. And when the ‘c’ on his middle finger slammed down harder than the ‘k’ Ian could see that he’d lost to himself.

A lose lose situation when you’re paying either way – Mickey walked out of the apartment and didn’t spare another word.

Todd huffed out a laugh of disgust and turned toward him. “Well he was pleasant.”

Mandy stormed over, each foot _pounding_ into the floor with intent to bruise. “He’s my brother.” The words were punctuated with such intensity that Todd actually flinched.

“And he lives here too?”

Ian wanted to scream at him and ask him why he was there. “No he was just – passing through.” He knows that – he _knows_ that. Todd was here all the time. There _are_ such things as dumb questions, but the one's Ian hates the most are these. The backward passivity of speaking that is only designed to make you explain without asking for what you want..

Todd eyed him questioningly. “But he lives upstairs, doesn’t he?” Heat started to warm Ian’s skin and he wondered if he was turning red. “I mean I see him all the time. At night smoking on the balcony. He’s said hi to me before.”

The doorknob shattered a picture frame as Mandy threw it aside. Glass shards exploded leaving Todd reflexively jumping and using his arms as guards against his face.

Ian rushed to follow her as she wildly sprinted down the hall and threw her body against walls from too much force of movement. It was like watching a rag doll trying to run for her life. A terrifying thing to see after you but even sadder to have to watch trip and fall.

Mickey hadn’t made it very far – only 3 hallways and 2 corners to the left and then the right. His face expectant the moment he stilled and turned to await whatever wanted him.

“How could you!” Mandy shrieked hysterically. Her right hand rounded up and streaked across his face with a resounding _SMACK_.

Mickey’s pale skin burned a bright angry red as she pulled back to land a second hit with a slapping sting even louder than the first.

Ian stood nearly 20 feet back watching with the interest one might have in seeing a lion being kicked in the face. Mickey snarled and grimaced as each blow hit again and again but his body remained rigid. Because the lion is ashamed and it ate its favorite people so it won’t fight back. The cage door is open and there is the scent of fresh meat spurring forward a hungeruntil it realizes -- it’s only himself.

He’s bleeding out and rotting with grief for all his lost friends. The kicks don’t hurt as much as that.

Mandy closed her hands and pounding again and again against his chest began to weep in rage. “I hate you!” Her words scratched and broken and full of love that it made it hard to watch. “I hate you, I hate you—“

Ian felt the lump in his throat. He wondered how long it had been there and if Mickey’s hurt as much as his did.

The wails quieted to simpering sobs and Ian’s gaze fell with Mandy’s crumpling legs. Mickey’s body moved with hers to the floor and his arms raised slowly to hold her while she dug chipped painted nails into the already bloody shirt. A breath of release left his parted lips.

“Oh my god Ian are you ok?” Todd’s voice sounded from over his right shoulder and Ian shuddered because his breath felt wrong. “You’re bleeding.”

He trailed a glance down his chest and legs to notice the tracks of blood lining the carpet and ending at his feet. He’d stepped on glass.

“Yea I’m fine.” Ian spoke looking directly into Mickey’s eyes.

He’d been attacked by a lion but it was okay –

Mickey’s nose wrinkled above the shuddering strands of his sisters matted hair. Ian wondered if he could smell it. The scent that Todd had left on his body with each touch and kiss and flick of tongue that wasn’t Mickey’s.

He hoped he could.

He hoped that it smelled different than the way Mickey would linger in sighs and acidic tears on bite marks and bruises. He hoped he could taste it on his tongue and in the back of his mouth like the blood on the floor.

He hoped it tasted as sour as it felt.


	11. Chapter 11

Ian smoked 6 cigarettes that night. The most he’d smoked in a row since leaving Chicago. He stayed huddled by the window blowing out each puff of tobacco and nicotine into the night wondering if Mickey was looking down from upstairs.

Todd rolled over in bed rustling the sheet Ian had tossed over his face. He didn’t smoke – hated the smell. Ian still hadn’t told him that he’d only half quit.

The end of his cigarette burned bright angry red and orange heat against the inked sky. People always say that it’s hard to see the stars when you live in the city but Ian had been counting them for an hour. 631 – maybe, a rough estimate. He may have counted a few more than once.

But he didn’t understand how people didn’t see them. Littering the sky like the only thing that will ever truly be infinitely forever. All you had to do was look up.

A soft knock sounded on his door and he tensed darting his eyes toward Todd. Mandy peeked in slowly before Ian smiled and held up a hand to tell her he’d come out. It wasn’t worth the risk to wake up the stranger in his bed.

He stubbed out the butt into the ashtray on their table. Mandy sighed. “He still think you quit?”

“I half quit.” A smiled pulled at his face. “What he doesn’t know wont kill him.”

Mandy sat down and rested her head in his lap. The couch molding to accommodate their bodies and he leaned back to drape his arm around her waist. The apartment had never seemed so quiet.

He could listen only to their breaths and the way they rasped and sighed and sputtered to different tempos. Each exhale of hers wanting to match his and the whole dance made it difficult because Ian found himself holding his breath longer just to line it up with hers.

And once you start focusing on breathing it’s impossible because pretty soon you’re asking yourself – how does my body do this? How does it remember to do this task so continuously that I don’t even notice and when they say loving someone is like breathing it’s true. The second you’re aware of it you’re afraid of it stopping, of losing that crucial part of what’s keeping you alive.

So naturally in that moment it stops. Your breathing coming out in measured and more difficult thought out actions instead of natural progression. Your love – painful and hot and pricking your finger just to say _I’m a part of you now_ and you know that if it goes, so will you.

“What are you thinking about?” Mandy’s voice was whispered and shy. Afraid to disturb the silence but swallowed up by it anyhow.

He stayed focused ahead, eyes trained on the wall trying to _forget_ about breathing and he saw that there was a smudge. It should have been nothing to him, not even noticeable but there it was – glaring.

A little reminder left to say _hey, you’re not that clean_. If walls could talk right? That whole thing.

Ian moved his fingers to brush Mandy’s bangs away from the caked lashes of her eyes. She’d been crying for hours and had nothing left to show for the emotions besides bad makeup and exhaustion.

“I wish I could love you.” It hurt him to feel her relax into the words. “I would if I could, I’d love you forever.”

She rolled onto her back with wide almost childlike eyes bearing into him. His hand still entangled with her and they could have passed for a couple.

Her lips formed a home around each word – the weight of them falling deep into the pit of his stomach.

“He breaks your heart.” Mandy smiled sadly and nodded before a tear leaked down from the corner of her eye leaving a stain on his pants. “He really does, he breathes and breaks your heart.”

Ian tilted his head back against the couch and staring holes into the ceiling, hoped that Mickey could hear their every word.

\---

Mandy had wanted to see his apartment. Her eyes were wet rats all dripping and sticky and black. No doubt housing some sort of toxin that would blind her if she just blinked the wrong way. Mickey wanted to tell her to fuck off and go home.

But he couldn’t say no. He could, technically – but not really. And he’d asked for this. It had been inevitable. His sister’s nails biting into him as she insisted _I need to see it Mickey_. Like the proof of existence would somehow make the bitter burn of his abandonment easier.

Ian hadn’t wanted to come. Said he was tired and needed time as Todd wrapped a slimy hand around his waste and left Mickey with hate in his veins.

He scratched at the chills prickling his arm before stamping out the cigarette on the balcony railing. The smoke puffing out from Ian’s window no longer visible and maybe he’d finally gone to sleep.

The keys on his cell phone stuck with each punch of his finger. A string of _‘fucks’_ falling out when the ‘3’ hit twice instead of once.

The night crackled around each ring and Mickey almost hung up thinking it was too late but then --- “This better be good.”

“Not really.”

The line rustled and he could hear her bed creaking as she shot up. “Mickey? What’s going on why are you calling me?”

Fiona’s voice jumped with an agitation that he could only assume parents get when their kid calls in the middle of the night. _But I thought you were sleeping little tommy!_ He cracked his knuckles and wondered when he’d been worthy enough to elicit that response from her.

“I saw Mandy.” The line buzzed silently. The type of sound you can only hear in silence, which was – ironic. “She stabbed me.”

“Did you deserve it?” Fiona, ever the mediator.

He laughed. “Probably.”

A car door slammed from outside, a cab probably – maybe Ian had kicked Todd out after all.  “How was it?”

He knew what she meant. _Who_ she was talking about. Mickey didn’t need to speak Ian’s name for the ugly facts of it to seep through all the way back to the Southside. But suddenly it felt like no time had passed and maybe he was just a few blocks over from the head of the Gallagher household and they were talking by mistake. Ian should’ve answered and he would just hang up on Fiona leaving her to angrily scream about _why the fuck is Mickey Milkovich calling me?_

He heaved out a shaky breath. “Painful.”

“You know –“ Fiona started, “the case is technically still open.” He could hear her flick on a lighter. “No one really cares but Tony – he’s a good cop.”

“Yea I know.” Mickey picked at the sheets on his bed. “It’s not like I’m coming back.”

They stayed silent and his bladder ached – he had to pee so fucking badly.

“Mickey?” Fiona questioned with a lilt to her voice that seemed alarmingly like Mandy’s. “You know I get why you did it right? All of it.” The line fell back into a lull of thought. “It’s just you made your bed.”

He laughed while spotting a new stain in his sheets. Blood, jizz – who even knew anymore --

His back relaxed to such an extreme as he leaned down to mold into his mattress that it actually kind of hurt. A pleasurable pain that always told him he’d sleep well that night.

Another car door, another shuffle of feet and clicking heels wandering around trying to find some place to sleep that night. He closed his eyes and pretended that every person outside his window was just as fucked as him.

“And now I’ve got to lie down in it.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Is there something that you want to tell me?”

Ian spit out the toothpaste gathering in pools at the bottom of his mouth. Todd was standing behind him eyes maiming in the bathroom mirror. His arms were crossed – clearly this was a serious conversation.

“No?” One more spit and he could see a tint of red in the sink. He’d brushed too hard, was bleeding now. “Why?”

Todd made no move but Ian could see the way staying tense made him tremble, and not in a good way. Not the endearing twitch of someone’s skin that made you want to hover over and see if you could feel it too. It was the twitch of nonuse – of discomfort, the inability to hold your ground.

There has to be something said for someone who can be tense and not twitch – but he’s not sure if it’s a good or bad thing.

“Who is he?” The accusation in his voice was almost laughable.

Ian scratched at a scar on his shoulder that looked exactly like the silver outlining of a bite mark, but only if you _really_ looked close enough. “Who?” Two could play this game of wits.

“Don’t give me that—“ Todd slammed his hand against the wall and it made something twist inside of Ian. A hatred toward himself for the jump, a question of intent. Everyone has a breaking point, even Todd.

“Mickey.” He let the name roll around on his tongue and spit one more time just to check that there was still blood mixing with it. “Mickey is Mandy’s brother.”

_“Who is that?” Ian chewed on his sweatshirt sleeve while practically molded into his brother’s side. It was a cold winter, one of the coldest in years. Their heat had turned off and Fiona was out working 2 separate jobs that day to try and get enough money for them to turn it back on. Lip had said that it was just as cold outside as in so they might as well go out and have some fun._

_The sweatshirt hung too big on him – it was Lip’s, stolen from the lost and found at school. But Fiona said it’s not like that, said that it was found now and that was all that mattered. His brother had draped it around Ian’s shivering frame 20 minutes ago and he was now only donning a thin long sleeve under a tshirt._

_Lip sucked hard on his cigarette and pulled back when Ian reached for it. He was adamant about him not starting to smoke until he’d reached double digits. Only 3 months away. “Who?”_

_His hand lifted with the cuff of the sleeve falling over his fingers. “Him.”_

_Ian had been transfixed on the boy a few yards away from them. His hair was a dark mess of sticking tufts alternating between looking like someone had just hit him and that he’d meant for it to look that way. He assumed someone had still hit him though – no matter what – based off of the bruise taking up a quarter of his face near his right eye._

_“Mm that’s Mickey Milkovich.” Lip bit out, an air of smoke curling around his words that wasn’t just from the cigarette but more so from the cold. “Mandy’s brother.”_

_Something wet and hard hit Ian square in the back. He turned around to see Mandy Milkovich stick out her tongue with a scowl fit for only a queen to wear. The remnants of a snowball fell down his spine._

_“Oh.” Ian’s breath ate the word, it was too cold to let linger into the day._

_Lip turned back and winked, Mandy’s cheeks colored an ugly red, too close to her skin – too cold. Everything was freezing and dying._

_“Don’t worry.” His brother’s shoulder prodded deep into his skin as it banged against him. “That just means she likes you.”_

_Ian gave Mandy one last look before turning back to the boy in the snow. His bruise stood out obnoxiously against his pale skin and there was something about the way he painted the snow red. Blood on his hands, blood on the boy before him – a victim ever so willing to be hit. Ian wondered why, what could possibly be so longed for by the touch of Mickey Milkovich._

“I got that.” Todd screwed his eyes into a scowl before turning half way to leave. “I just feel like I’m missing something and that wont end well.”

Ian reached into his mouth to feel around for the source of the stinging wound. It was a small cut, but deep, the kind that get’s infected easily.

“Okay.” He wasn’t sure if he was responding to Todd or trying to reason with him. Tell him that it was okay, his insanity was unjustified. But is that okay in and of itself?

The brown eyes met his once more with a newfound anger. “You’re still coming tomorrow night right?” His lip pulled up into his teeth and it looked – _wrong_. “To the bar? There’s that show.”

Ian wondered when he said or did anything that had made it seem like he’d forgotten about their plans. And was it just a human flaw? Everyone always assuming that someone had forgotten about them? That disgusting stench of fear that trails behind every insecurity that you have shackled to your heart like it might be cute, mysterious?

Because it’s not. It never is. It’s just, another tote of baggage in your already full cart.

He had forgotten about the bar, naturally, but still he’d never let that on. So can he be pissed? He didn’t even care, he was.

“I remember.”

\---

“You good?” Ray’s voice boomed close to Mickey and he pulled at the hangnail even more slowly with his teeth. The sting of pain a comfort against the attempt at camaraderie and the cries of another girl done wrong coming from the back room – it was a ridiculous world.

Blood filled the linings around his cuticle. “Hmm?”

Ray eyed him, one brow arched high in a growing inquiring concern. “I said are you good man?”

Mickey didn’t answer him and had to turn his head away from the bruise that seemed to glow in the dark around the red headed girls neck. It looked evil – it reminded him of his father, for some reason.

Ray walked on egg shells around him for the rest of the night, which was hard, considering that he was so big. The entire notion made for some bit of comic relief in his life.

His feet ached on the walk home and he could’ve taken the subway or flagged down a cab, but the night was cool. A welcome relief to the fever burning inside and he liked to pass other people in the throws of despair. It provided a sense of perspective.

The red hair was immediate the moment he turned on his street – their street – the street – fuck.

“What do you want?” He tried to cut him, used every ounce of venom inside but it turned sad and dulled the moment the words hit air.

Ian pulled on the cigarette and bunched his sweatshirt around his fists. Mickey wondered if he knew that this was a habit. “How long have you lived here?”

He pulled a scowl and tucked his arms tightly around his body to keep the lies together. “Does it matter?”

Another puff of smoke. “No.”

Ian was a problem smoker, a cheap imitation of despair and addiction. Or maybe the purest kind – it was hard to tell when everyone was a fake.

“Well then.” Mickey moved to walk past him and toed at one step wrong so that his ankle twisted in a half trip.

Gallagher’s shoulders jumped in a cough before he could hear the splat of spit on the concrete. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

He wondered where Lip was, if he’d skipped town already leaving Ian longing for family and familiarity that he wasn’t capable nor ready to fill.

“Nothing.”

He looked toward him, years of questions in his eyes. “You wanna come to a show?”

Mickey imagined the plans spoken over and familiar in Ian’s mind. Of Todd having it planned into his calendar and Mandy falling asleep to the idea of another obligation she needed to show up to. The normalcy that is so easily lost to alternate intentions.

Did he want to go to a show? No. But that wasn’t the question. The question was lost to another one – a string of them.

Do you love me? Are you miserable, was it worth it?

He wrapped his fingers around the door and felt a jolt of nerves crawl up into his brain as he turned his head. He’d turned too fast – pinched something.

“Yea.”

Yea to fucking all of it.


	13. Chapter 13

“Jesus what?” Mickey threw the door open fully expecting to see his sister – maybe Ian, _maybe_.

“Ever the charmer.” A stream of smoke rose toward the ceiling and he thinks he just noticed that there weren’t any fire alarms anywhere. Wasn’t that like -- illegal? “Haven’t changed a bit huh?”

Lip curled his mouth up into one of his know it all grins that made Mickey’s skin burn with piss all annoyance.

“Have you?” He growled out while Lip let himself right in leaving bits of ash on his rug.

“I’ve gotten nicer I think.”

Mickey narrowed his eyes before turning to cross his arms over his chest. The move still sent a shock of pain crawling up his side and oh right – he had only been stabbed 3 days ago. “Remind me to ask Mandy about that.”

The older Gallagher turned smirking again. “Funny – I was just gonna go bring up a similar conversation with Ian.”

The problem with talking to Lip was that he was a poker face. Saw every opportunity as one to gain the upper hand and swipe his opponent’s gold from behind their back before they’d even noticed he’d blinked. And Mickey was a challenger – determined to watch you back down and whither before his stare, retreating back to the safe space of anywhere but next to him.

Lip didn’t like retreating and Mickey had no gold for him to steal. So now what? A game of fucking wits.

“What the fuck do you want?” He didn’t put anything behind the words. There wasn’t any point in throwing out your best weapon when a battle was cyclical. It would just bounce back and hit him in his own face.

Lip picked at a piece of left over food on his kitchen counter. “You know I’ve been thinking and a couple things just can’t quite –“ He snapped his fingers. “Click.”

He made to move back into his apartment but made sure to keep the door open. Let’s not pretend we’re getting comfortable.

“Brain cells giving out on ya?”

“But then I thought to myself –“ He stopped and cocked his head to the side. “Lip you’re just thinking about this too much. Look at what is right in front of you, the answer is probably already there just lingering on the surface.”

He splayed his hands out miming something that looked so stupid it didn’t even matter his intentions.

Mickey’s stomach twisted. “Careful you might hurt yourself using all that brain power.”

Lip laughed. “Dually noted.” His cigarette stomped out into a crumble of burnt paper and ash. The one tucked behind his ear already began falling in between his fingers. “But it’s funny because your dad died –“ The flame licked at the end of the Marlboro and he sucked a deep inhale. “No disrespect.”

“None taken.”

“I guess I just find it really interesting how you show up on our doorstep in tow with Fiona all bruised and battered – _quiet_ and just wanting to sleep.”

He could feel his patience fraying. The fates pulling his thread tighter and tighter and one of those bitches slowly plucking away at it to see what the last thread – literally -- would be.

Mickey patted at his sweats for a stray cigarette. There weren’t any. “Natural fucking detective now aren’t we?” His pack was on the microwave, he could see it just barely calling to him. Hey! It’s your friend cancer – I’m over here.

Lip reached out to hand him his own. “But then it hit me that Ian disappeared that night too – So I can’t help but think that is too much of a coincidence.” Mickey kept his eyes trained on the floor. Lip didn’t falter with his outreached offering. “It’s like that game you know? Was it Ian in the ballroom with the candles stick –“ The smoke danced, curling up to his nose and he couldn’t help it anymore.

His nails scratched across skin as he snatched it away. “Or Mickey in the kitchen with the rope?”

Lip smiled. “Exactly.”

\---

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Todd raised his eyebrows while scanning every inch of Mandy’s body. And Ian thought it was a little weird how straight it seemed versus the words that would have elicited a ‘ _that’s fucking gay’_ from her own brother.

The straps of her sandals bit into her skin causing the flesh to rise into enflamed red strips of bulging pain. Her dress – _painted_ on. A glove shrunk 3 x too small reminding him of OJ Simpson.

If the glove doesn’t fit you must acquit. Weird.

Mandy licked her lips pushing dark red smudges of lipstick around just enough to make you wonder if she was bleeding.

“You know Todd –“ Her eyes narrowed into slits that a snake wouldn’t dare mimic. Ian counted to 10 inside his head hoping to be in some sort of deep magical sleep by the time he was done. “Most men just come right out and tell a girl when she’s looking a bit slutty.” She placed a hand tenderly over her heart when his face began to flush in embarrassment. “Oh I’m sorry – do you prefer whore?”

“Mandy I –“

Ian cut him off. “Todd, stop. Please.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? This is my fault that she starts putting words in my mouth making me out to be the bad guy? It’s bad enough you no doubt do that on your own but it’s another thing to blatantly take her side.”

A fist echoed against the door reminding him of when Lip and he used to have secret knocks to get into their room. Carl had forgotten it one day and they swore up and down, over the few bills they had that no matter what they would not cave in their conviction.

Every time he hears the rap of knuckles against a door he can only think of that – _that’s not the secret knock_.

“Oh I’m sorry Ian –“ Mandy clapped her hands falling into the couch. “I forgot that your boyfriend enjoys passive aggressive actions that make me mistake him for a shell of a man longing for some love.” Her pointer and middle finger former a ‘V’ before her lips and she wiggled out a long pink tongue to lick at the air. “You’d think he was straight all the pussy shit falling out of his mouth.”

Ian stopped counting numbers and seconds feeling the beginnings of a migrain working behind his eyes. He opened the door to be met with Lip punching him in the shoulder. “In memoriam of Carl being an idiot.” His brother held up his hand in scout’s honor. “I swear to never forget the secret knock.”

Mandy scowled from the couch crossing and uncrossing her legs. Each movement making the dress stretch in groans of fabric itching to just unravel already. Todd’s foot tapped off beat against the leg of the table and he knew he wanted Ian to stand up for him. Knew even more so that he couldn’t.

It’s surprisingly hard to justify yourself in pretending to care.

The heels of Mandy’s shoes scraped screeching against the floor as she shot up and flung a hand in Lip’s direction. “What the fuck is this?”

Lip smiled and squeezed Ian’s shoulder before moving further in toward her. “I just couldn’t stay away.”

The smell of a cigarette burned the inside of his nostrils and Ian pinched the side of his thigh wondering whether it would turn to a bruise or a welt.

Mandy’s body twitched. “I don’t mean you I mean him asshole.”

Lip craned his neck back toward the door to where Mickey was standing, arms crossed and the cause of the burn sitting between his fingers. Ian applied more pressure against his own skin and wondered the irony in the thought of Mickey being the burn to his cooling. Would he be numb entirely without him?

Todd’s foot tapped harder and his brother kept the smile plastered in place before turning directly toward him.

“He couldn’t stay away either.”


	14. Chapter 14

The worst thing about being in one place for long enough to have a name and a recognizable face is that people actually start fucking recognizing you.

Mickey pulled his shoulder in against the throng of people pushing past him. A girl darted her eyes up and down like his stare might just burn her. Don’t look too long you may _catch_ something.

When the curl of recognition began twisting in _his_ stomach making it all that much worse, he wanted to leave. It’s one thing to be noticed but then you find yourself thinking – _well aren’t you familiar_? Didn’t I see you somewhere crying and broken and I walked right past because I’m a monster. Little fucking loser on the street, I can only wish you find someone better to cry to than me.

His fingers twitched and a bit of dried flesh jagged on the side of his cuticle slid across softer skin. Pain inflicted from your own body. They were all fighting themselves. Sickness and disease only as scary as your own heart.

Mickey shuddered at the thought.

He hit the bar snagging up a glass of whiskey and watched the way the lights colored the bruises on the girls face. It was ugly, so ugly he thought it might just be god damn beautiful. Someone had hurt her good – hope it was worth it.

His hand tilted up high to knock back a shot and it burned like home.

“You looking for a good time tonight?” The words were specific, practiced and rehearsed in the mirror. Plum nails long enough to be considered weapons grazed his arm sending a chill – revulsion.

Mickey smiled and hit the bar for another drink. “I ain’t interested.”

Red hair flicked hitting him in the face and he thought it was ironic. But god did it make him convulse. Long stray strands of dead skin cells littering his shirt like it fucking belonged or something. Like he had said it was okay for her to shed on him.

“C’mon baby I can ease that burn of loneliness.”

A drink slid down his way and he white knuckled the glass. There was a chip in it. “I don’t play for your team.”

Her nails moved back and forth scratching at him with conviction. Mandy used to do that when they were younger, scratch at him every time he made her cry or threw out an old Barbie. Her tears would roll down faster in a rage as each draw deepened the wounds on any bare patch of vulnerability she could get at.

He still had the scars.

The red head leaned in closer and flicked out her tongue to just tickle his ear. “That don’t mean I still can’t help you baby.” She pulled back and Mickey found himself leaning to keep eye contact. She was pretty, he imagined – to someone. “Loneliness is a disease.” Her nails dug and crescent shaped indentations enflamed. “But you already knew that you poor sad thing.”

\---

“Where’s Mickey?” Lip leaned his back against the base of the bar eyeballing a girl to the right of them. Ian craned his neck and sighed when he saw it was another cheap skinny blonde. Coke still laced her nose and he could imagine the lilt to her voice resembling disdain and hate.

Exactly the type of girl he’d hoped his brother had gotten over.

“Dunno.” He shrugged his shoulders downing the rest of his beer and wiped a hand across his mouth. “Why’d you bring him tonight?”

“Said you invited him.” Lip ran a tongue over his teeth and breathed out an impressed ‘woo’ as the blonde turned to bend over. A cigarette between his fingers he whistled while flicking on a lighter.

Ian clenched his hands in and out of fists. “What are you two fucking friends now or something?” His face felt turned and twisted. He could practically see the dip in between his own eyes.

Lip reached out waving a hand in the direction of the bartender. Two fingers wiggled in the smoke of the room before a fresh beer was placed in front of him. “Don’t pretend like you’re not happy about it.”

A bass reverberated throughout his body. Mandy’s dress glinted slivers of violent reflection off of the lights. She was dancing alone.

“Make it right with Mandy!” Ian called over his shoulder while watching his brother saunter off to a dark corner.

He let his eyes un-focus blurring the people around him into writhing masses of moving space. Everyone looked the same – he could have been dreaming. Like when faces aren’t really distinct but more so a blotched canvas of littered features. He ran his fingers over his legs and up to his face plucking at his eyebrows and pinching the sides of his eyes –

He was still here, he was human, he was not a zombie on the floor.

“You avoiding me?” Mickey chewed his lips, a glazy sheen over his eyes that only alcohol could produce.

“I’m not sure.” It was an honest answer.

He stared intently watching the glaze slip and slide around Mickey’s pupils like maybe some part of his brain wanted to sober up. Like maybe he didn’t enjoy being drunk as much as his actions strived to portray. Like maybe all he really wanted was a second where the fog could lift and he could smile because his thoughts would no longer betray his feelings.

Mickey pushed in closer nudging Ian’s knees apart. He closed his eyes sucking in a breath and feeling every muscle tense.

“Why would you invite me here if you didn’t want me to –“ He leaned down letting the swirl of whiskey coat Ian’s senses. “Come.”

Ian pulled back quickly knocking his head against Mickey’s on the way. “What are you doing?”

_“What are you doing here?” Terry Milkovich had rat eyes. Pure black evil and you’re pretty sure that your skin will bubble and puss if he bites you. Ian had never really seen him smile but in his mind his teeth were filed like daggers._

_He figured that he was shaking but the better part of his mind told him that he had a steady hand. When Terry’s fist came flying at him propelled by something he didn’t quite have a name for, he realized it didn’t really matter._

Todd’s back twisted in a strained move and Ian could see him just above Mickey’s left shoulder. He was further back in the bar – past the dancers who knew what they were doing and just before Lip’s dark corner of self-pity.

“Does it matter?” Mickey’s words were breaths hot and panted and Ian could feel every inch of him.

He gritted his teeth and whined. “Not to me.”

Ian’s back pushed against the bar digging deeper and deeper into his skin. He could feel it bruising – a dull pain, the kind that lingers and grips you like it’s just shy of complaint but still bad enough to hurt.

Mickey’s hands gripped either side of the counter around him and he could still see Todd.  See him moving and talking and smiling and he wondered if he was a bad person. For just a split second it occurred to him that maybe he was in the wrong. Two men one stone – what would he be left with?

Blood on his hands and a sore arm.

Ian shifted in closer turning his head down toward Mickey’s wrist. A thin scar danced down the length of his pointer finger. He’d never seen it before, another thing he had to ask him about.

Lips burned hot against his neck and something guttural caught in his throat. A snake of desire wrapping up through his leg and into his abdomen leaking out into his veins – poisoning him.

Mickey’s tongue licked slowly and he was getting heady. The high that people dream of when they stab needles into their arms was being gifted to him. It was almost cruel because he would never be able to buy it up again.

_His arm was bleeding -- Terry’s knife sliding dirty against the floor and Ian rammed his head hard against the man’s chest. Terry doubled over grabbing at his own body heaving a breath that wheezed and sounded wrong. Broken._

_Ian stumbled getting up and jumping back into defense preparing for another hit._

Mickey shuddered under his hands before Ian could register that he was touching him. A woman near by darted a look of disapproval and he dug his nails in harder.

_Terry shook like he’d been electrocuted. His eyes going wide and even still Ian could only see black, no whites anywhere. The crash made Ian jump as he hit the floor twisting and convulsing and gasping for anything that would reduce the suffocation happening in his brain._

_It was a seizure, Ian knew that, had seen them before in school videos and movies and fuck, that kid Tom once had one on the baseball field._

_But it wasn’t just a seizure – it was the sign he’d been looking for._

Mickey pushed into him making Ian hiss. His lips still crawling trails up his neck sucking and biting and daring him to say no.

Mandy’s eyes darted quick over and her mouth twisted into something tight. Todd was still in his line of view and Ian figured if he was going to hell for anything it would be this one moment.

Because he had a boyfriend and he was hard against someone else – biting his tongue and swallowing blood thinking about how this has got to be love.


	15. Chapter 15

The bathroom door rattled as his back hit square against it sending a gasp of pain into Ian’s mouth. The man’s tongue swallowed up the sound like it alone had been the soul purpose of all of this.

Give and take, a little pain a little pleasure. He could taste blood and he’s pretty sure it wasn’t his own.

Mickey fisted his hands into Ian’s shirt pushing him off and taking a ragged breath that was closer to a growl. The word ‘ _merciless’_ rang loud in his head as Ian’s eyes shone with alcohol and lust and hate.

He was going to destroy him.

A bruise hit him on his hips when hands gripped tight and pushed him now against the wall. His head whacked the concrete with a _smack_ initiating stars that helped him see a little bit better in the dim light.

Mickey reached around lacing his fingers from jaw to ear and digging into the short hairs of Ian’s scalp. It was brutal – a brutal way to love someone. People throw the words blood sweat and tears around like they have substance but to live it is different. It’s to read for the first time, to be able to open your eyes in the dark and realize that you can still see if you just push a little further.

This love was like falling – you’ve pushed yourself a little further off the mountain and the rush will make you sick while you’re slashing your arms on the way down. But down down you go because Alice didn’t turn around and Mandy had made him read that book so many fucking times to her.

Down the rabbit hole Ian, I’ll meet you there.

A hand dragged roughly against his jeans and Mickey pressed desperately into the touch. Anything he could get, any bit of friction needed to be faster and harder and there was something to be said for still having their clothes on.

Quick gropes in the bathroom and fucks that aren’t fucks because of all the fabric between you – it’s desperate. And desperation is a dirty dirty thing.

“Was it hell for you?” Ian’s words came out a hot sting. “Seeing me all that time just a few floors away.”

Mickey bit his lip and leaned in closer flicking out his tongue to lick at Ian’s mouth. He thought about Todd kissing him and it made him wild pushing himself deeper wanting to be swallowed by him or to choke him. It was unclear.

He figures he must have answered because Ian bit back now before running words across his skin and up his neck. “Did it hurt to think about me fucking him?” The name wasn’t necessary.

He groaned as Ian replaced his hands with his hips. “What would you say if I said yes?” It felt like a fever. When you’re floating above ground and the breeze of the wind is enough to hurt because you’re burning up from the inside out.

Ian’s mouth cracked into a smile but it felt like a sneer with the twitches of muscles acting in rage.

“I hope it hurt.”

_The house was so thick with different odors Mickey actually found it difficult to breathe. And it’s funny because he was there last night, slept in his bed counting sheep and he didn’t notice that smell._

_But maybe it’s because his mind had shifted. Finally every bit of his being was set on one idea and he could open his eyes to his life. The veil had been lifted to show him that there was still a veil over everything and it reeked of meth and pot._

_And sweat – disgusting sour putrid sweat._

_A clicking sound echoed off the walls bouncing from the rotted wooden chair to the guns and then back to him. It sounded mechanical, broken. One more hazard he’s sure would kill them in time._

_No one was home. He knew that before he’d come in. That was the point. Because he was really tired and the energy needed to fend off Terry or love Mandy was equivalent. Ian had taught him that – love and hate being two sides of the same coin. Either way it took too much out of him, stabbed its hands inside his gut and twisted and pulled with a smile and a quick word of ‘you should get some sleep’._

_Mickey reached down dipping his finger into the pile of coke on the table and jammed it up his nose sniffing deep and quick. He wished he could see inside his head and watch the particles travel through out his brain stem. Wished he could put a face to what was killing him and not have it look like his father or the red head with a smile that was the worst type of weapon._

_A smile tricks you because you don’t wan to look deeper. Your mind telling you ‘good, they’re good’ but are you looking at the way the corners pull? At how nothing reaches their eyes and this may be a grimace –_

_No one bothers to look._

_There was a picture over the mantle and it showed the ghost of him 10 years prior. A smile hanging on his lips that stirred a rage deep down. His lip was cracked, dried and split not doubt from his father’s fist. Eyes angry and scared looking half out of frame in preparation for a fight._

_‘No one questions a smile’ Mickey thought as the arsenic spilled out into the rest of the cocaine._

Ian’s forehead felt hot. A sheen of sweat made his skin glisten and the bass of a band starting to play thrummed between them making each bone vibrate. His hearing was half gone like when you run too fast and you’re dehydrated and you know you’re about to pass out.

Both their chests were heaving too greatly that their proximity made them crash into each other with every breath.

Ian pulled back leaving Mickey’s vision swirling and just as fast as they had each other pinned and gasping, the room was empty. He stayed sucking in air pressed against the wall. The bass picking up rhythm and a drum set crashed with force being propelled on by the applause of the bar full of drunken assholes.

He was drunk – he felt sick. His fingers trembled as he pushed himself forward stumbling to the mirror hanging over a sink stained with blood.

The faucet screeched against rust and he pooled a bit of water in his hands before splashing his face.

“Get yourself together.” He whispered before feeling each string inside begin to fray. His palms flat against the wall slamming and smashing into the concrete over and over screaming at only his own reflection. “Get yourself together!”

The door creaked open and he turned violent ready for the attack. Hoping that Ian had come back for more to put one last bullet in his brain and that Mickey could beat him to it. He would do anything to make him feel this.

But Mandy stood arms crossed, makeup running and sloppy from the sweat on her face.

“Really?” She started and he brought his hands over his ears in fear, in cowardly pain and deja’vu. “You’re a fucking pussy.”

Her eyes were measured and she turned heels clicking like the devils laugh.

Mickey could feel the whiskey come back up and he turned back to the sink spilling up a mess of all his body had to offer. His nostrils burned and the alcohol stayed stuck in bits of choking vomit.

The last stall opened and a guy not much older than him walked out tentatively buttoning up his pants. He avoided eye contact and went to wash his hands clearly having been waiting for his moment to escape.

Mickey stared at his own sink and had never felt so typical in his whole life. The man grabbed a paper towel before looking over as well.

“Nice.”

Mickey stayed quiet because it was pointless. He could do nothing but nod and watch the man head back out cleaner and more put together than he ever would be.


	16. Chapter 16

Ian fell into bed hard that night. Scraping with Todd trying to get his clothes off fast enough so he didn’t have to recognize that it wasn’t Mickey he was about to fuck.

There was a shake to his hands – Todd didn’t notice.

And they fell into something that may have been pleasurable once but now seemed only like sliding against sandpaper and having to pretend to not wince with each draw against rawer skin. It was rough and a meager attempt at a confession.

_I don’t love you, please see that. I want to be anywhere but here._

Ian lay heavy curled on his side away from Todd. The bed a coffin. His fingers were trapped turning white between his knees to hide their tremors and he bit his lip hard to try not to scream. Every sweat slicked body ever placed against him in his false sense of control came burning behind his eyes like a sick marionette show. His strings all being pulled and latched to the different men having flitted in and out of his life.

But Mickey wasn’t there – had not a single string in his hand and could only watch on despondent, almost mournful from the audience.

He felt himself watching too, sitting there like a ghost out of his own body and Mickey didn’t say it and he didn’t say it but suddenly the bullhorns of a memory caught him by the gut. And finally, _finally_ Ian could say he felt a true sting of disgust as the flashes of he and his brother all those years ago bloomed brighter and with more clarity.

He shut his eyes to the room. Todd still on his skin he counted sheep and dozed into a fitful sleep afraid to face the fact that it was true.

He really was a kept boy.

\---

Mickey’s fingers smelled like an ashtray.

He sat on the stoop leading up to their building chain smoking through his entire pack of cigarettes. Each time he brought one up to take a drag the smell would overwhelm him and he couldn’t figure out if it was the actual cigarette anymore or just his skin. The idle thought that maybe he could just light himself up and smoke that crashed to the dirty sidewalk just as fast as it had formed.

He didn’t want to go inside.

Ian’s light had gone out an hour ago and it was probably some sick twisted thing that he had to actually _see_ that happen but he was drunk and it was late and he was way past caring. That’s the thing about falling overboard is that there is nothing but water left to drown in. At first you think about getting back on the boat but then the boat leaves and you go toward wanting to find shore –

But after a certain amount of time there’s little left to worry about. Why bother with drowning when a shark may kill you? And why care about the shark when there is thunder looming and don’t they always say water attracts lightning?

“Hey.” Mandy’s voice stirred him from his thoughts.

Her hair having been straight earlier in the night was now a messy wavier matted shock of ugly blonde. The night dimmed her out, made her blend in more like a shadow instead of his sister.

His cigarette burned brightly reflecting orange and red off her dress. “Hey.”

She walked over taking her shoes off and leaning on Mickey’s shoulder to catch her balance. He watched, curious as to why she had come home without Ian.

“So—“ Mandy started while bending to sit down directly next to him. Her boney legs knocked his with a readjustment of her dress. “Gonna offer me one or what?” She glanced down at the pack now crumbled and mostly empty.

He slid out a cigarette and held it just out reach. “You’re not gonna stab me again are you?” She rolled her eyes before he extended his arm passing it to her and then cupped a hand around the flame to light it.

She breathed in deep closing her eyes like it wasn’t blackening her lungs. The great southside disconnect – that cigarette’s wont be the thing that kills you.

“So you and Ian?” Smoke curled around her lips and dissipated into the air.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He huffed out immediately feeling the unease of lost love start to rock in his stomach. His knuckles scraped against the stair with a swing of his arm and now he had the scent of blood mixing with nicotine.

Mandy kept her focus trained outward toward the city. A gentle and casual shrug of her shoulders before continuing, “I do.”

Mickey grimaced and kicked at a stain in the concrete. Blood maybe—or an old spit wad.

“What do you wanna talk about?”

She leaned down flicking at a bug crawling on her toes. “I saw you two tonight.” The bug flung into space off toward Mickey’s right foot and he brought it down with a splat. It felt satisfying, somehow. “In the bathroom.” Like he didn’t know.

“Ok.”

Mandy turned resting her cheek awkwardly on her shoulder. It made Mickey shudder – looked like her neck was broken and that the eyes shining at him belonged to a contorted corpse.

“Did you kill dad?” The small tender questioning of her voice made the sentence sound as if it had been shouted.

And he thinks that maybe he should have freaked, went into self-preservation Milkovich status and thrown her vulnerability back in her face. He could get up and run and be 2 states away by the time Ian wakes up lonely and bitter the next morning – He could leave his sister to another 3 years of wondering, mourning – another 10 years even.

But he thinks of the ocean and the sharks and the storm just off in the distance and _what’s the fucking point?_

The ash falls off onto his fingers and it’s not hot. Surprisingly – he thought it would be.

“I don’t know.”

Sirens sounded close by and he thought _this is it,_ thought they were coming for him. Mandy reached out grabbing his hand holding tight until his blood circulation began to cut off. His fingers went cold, just in the tips, it was bearable.

The cop car flew by with lights flashing wildly heading closer toward where the bar was. Mandy curled her hand tighter and sighed while bringing the cigarette back to her lips.

“You know I was so pissed at you –“ Her body trembled under a passing breeze. “When I found out about Ian, I was so pissed.” Instinctively he looked up again to the window but the room was still blanketed in darkness. “It made me sick with rage because you’re my brother and he’s my best friend and I’m supposed to know this shit.” Her hand squeezed again. “I’m supposed to fucking _know_ and I didn’t and I think part of me was mad about that but also –

I think I was mad because you just snuck in and stole something out from under me. No note, no nothing – you stole my best friend and my certainty in one fell swoop and that just—“

“Pissed you off.” He finished her sentence stubbing out the butt of his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe.

She eyed him carefully before nodding. “Yea.”

Mickey ran his free hand over his face and cursed thinking that maybe that too would smell like tobacco now. “Sometimes I think that I’m the worst person.” It could have been the booze talking or the fact that his sister sat so still and small next to him revealing herself as best as she possibly could. But he felt he owed her something in exchange for all he’d done. “And I’ve spent so much time trying to turn myself into a monster because I’m a fucking Milkovich—“ He tugged on her hand and looked at the way their fingers sort of looked alike. “And you’re a Milkovich and that’s our job, to be scum.”

“You’re not scum.”

He smiled and shook his head looking back down to his feet. “Mandy I’m the scummiest there is because I take the things I love – the people that I love and I hate them. I hate them until I can’t love them anymore.”

She pulled away, “Dad used to say that.” Her eyes turned accusing, “You think that works?”

The squealing of an opening window echoed behind him. He turned meeting Ian’s gaze directly in his eyes and sighed.

“No, I don’t.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Is there a reason why you’re just sitting here?” The man reached across his torso sending a waft of cat piss burning up his nostrils. His shoulders falling and crashing against him in a way that reminded Lip of when Ian would nod off to sleep during a movie just to snap to attention demanding _I’m awake_. “You got a home kid?”

Lip smiled lazily and let a cigarette hang from his mouth. “Depends on your definition.”

“You got someone who—“ He worked his hand to readjust himself. “Someone who loves you?”

It was early, barely 6 o’clock he would guess by the way the sun just barely cast a glow on the world. The only time of day when limbo is actually on earth. An in between of all that you’re able to reach at night and just before it leaves you in the morning. It’s kind of sad actually.

It’s the exact moment you can feel something important slip away. Sand through your fingertips.

Lip patted the guy on his back before standing and wiping the grime off onto his pants. His cell phone caught on a loose thread from his jeans getting trapped before he yanked hard and hit himself in the face with it.

The buttons clicked awkwardly and he looked back to the bum seeing the ipod nestled deep into the folds of his stomach. Headphones haphazardly hung from one of his ears and for the first time in his life Lip truly felt a little outdated. There was a fine line between poor and pathetic and he was dancing along the edge of it.

“Hello?” His sister’s voice crackled in and out on the other end of the line.

“Hey Fi.” He felt himself smile into the name. Funny that no matter how independent you are, you always have that one person you want to run back to. That one person who somehow you believe will make it better even if they don’t – even if they provide nothing but an optimistic lie. It’s still okay.

“Lip? What going on, what’s wrong?”

He sighed taking in a lungful of smoke. “Why did you bring Mickey back to the house that night?”

A bird flew from a tree above his head making him jump. The sign of life almost eerie, because it’s easy to pretend that you’re the only one alive.

“Is this about Ian?”

“Yes, no—“ He closed his eyes. “I need to know. I deserve to fucking know right? I mean Mickey disappears, Ian’s a wreck, Mickey comes back and is living upstairs from him and Mandy all this time?” Fiona was silent, waiting. “I get that things don’t add up. And for the longest time I thought that I just wasn’t putting the pieces together but then I realized that I was missing one—Yours.”

“It was so long ago. Does it really matter anymore?”

Lip curled his fingers tighter around the phone and could hear the way the plastic cracked. He could break it, just a little bit more pressure and it would be bits on the sidewalk. Useless..

“Yea it does,” he finally answered.

He started to walk along the street, not know exactly where he was but figured that knowing the general direction was enough to at least start moving his feet. And for a split second the fact that no one had come looking for him pissed him off. Because yea, Ian was probably fucking Todd and of course Mandy wanted his balls on a silver platter. But what about Mickey? They’d bonded right? Sort of, at least enough to care if he was dead on the street—maybe.

“Do you remember that time dad came home really drunk and you locked Debbie and Carl in their room?” The memory crawled up from his stomach leaving a trace of something he hadn’t felt in years. Liam hadn’t even been born yet – Carl was only 4. “And you stood there standing against the door just in case letting Frank scream on. He was hysterical, do you remember?”

“Of course I remember.” He wanted her to stop talking.

Fiona smacked something somewhere in her world like she was speaking to him face to face. Still trying to get his attention even in a different state.

“But you had _me_. Ian had been gone—thank god—but I was there and you know I’d never let Frank destroy you the way he screamed about it.”

He grabbed at his throat instinctively. The echo of Frank’s words coming in and out in bursts of reality. Every drunken antic having fallen into a well of blurred importance. The legitimacy of the memories coming into play and he couldn't even remember if things had actually happened anymore or were just a terrible dream.

_“I will see my kids when I want to see them!" Frank had a hand pressed up against his windpipe and he could hear Debbie crying on the other side of the door._

_A smile played at the corners of his mouth making the hand squeeze even harder. "No you won't."_

_Fiona's swing of the bat cracking against Frank’s knees leaving Lip with a lingering taste for the satisfaction of breaking bones._  

"What are you saying Fi?" 

"I'm saying that I walked by the Milkovich house that day and I couldn't not go in-- the sounds that I heard from those walls." She paused and he could swear he heard a shudder. "Inhuman Lip. Like a dying animal." 

"Fiona--" 

"Mickey doesn't have a me. He _is_ the me. And Mandy I mean I get it now." Her words were a rushed breath of wavering syllables and puffs of anger fighting with grief. "I couldn't just leave him in there. I couldn't leave him with Terry."

 "But what happened?" 

 "Destruction, pure destruction." 

He felt the tremors work through his veins and he nearly doubled over. Suddenly awash with sadness for his brother because it's one thing to be broken, but it's an entirely different thing to love a broken soul. 

Ash broke off the end of his cigarette having collected from disuse. "What did he do to him?”

 "I don't--" Fiona sighed and he could practically see her crush her eyes in pain. "I don't want to drudge through it but let's just say Terry has some wildly traumatizing ideas on how to de-gay someone." She swallowed and the clink of a beer bottle clattered against her teeth. "And even worse ways of dealing with a son he'd rather not have breathing." 

_"Woah Mickey," Lip started, his mouth twisting into a smile. "Someone steal your lunch money?"_

_Mickey turned, eyes flat and hollow and he licked at the line of blood pooling amongst all cracks of his skin. And just like when they say it’s when a dog doesn’t eat, Lip knew instantaneously that everything had changed. That something cracked and angry and fragile had shattered._

_He could do nothing but stare as Mickey walked upstairs not sparing a single word in his wake._

“What are you not telling me?” He steeled himself turning a corner and seeing the outline of Ian and Mandy’s building looming not far in the distance. A sadness now outlining each cut of the brick pointing an arrow to the floor housing someone Lip knew would be sleeping alone.

“All you need to know is what’s done is done.” Fiona’s voice shifted. A memory tugging at his subconscious and the sun rising faster and faster challenging him to grab onto it before it would be lost for another day.

The steeliness, the certainty.  The scare of his sister having made up her mind telling him that she was still hoarding her puzzle piece. His hands grabbing and scratching getting nothing but blood and dirt stuck under his nails the harder he tried to reach for it.

“Ian deserves to know.” He finally spit out.

A silence hung heavy and pounding and he tripped over a raised edge of the sidewalk. He was still a little drunk he thought, and the scent of the girl from the bar lingered almost offensively on the sleeve of his jacket.

Fiona let her voice slide like honey. Dripping and laced with a toxicity he’s not sure he could place.

“You’re not the one who makes that decision.” The sun was up now—he’d lost. “I am.”


	18. Chapter 18

Mandy sat with one of Mickey’s sweatshirts hanging loose around her thin frame. Her dress strewn out across the floor closer to the door like she had tripped and fallen out of her clothes landing in a heap too exhausted to do anything about it.

It was weird for him to see her like this. Sitting folded into the corner side of his couch watching cartoons like she hadn’t a care in the world. Her ass half hanging out of too small underwear and he could see the cuffs of his clothing that seemed more appropriate on her than him folding over to completely cover her hands. The mug of coffee she held looked squished between only fabric and he’s sure it would slip – positive, could see the entire thing play out.

But he didn’t say anything.

And when the cup fell out of her grasp not 15 minutes later landing with a shattering crash and sending coffee flying all over her pale legs and his shitty floor, he still said nothing. No flippant _god damnit_ or _stupid bitch_ came falling out of his mouth because the notion that she got up and grabbed paper towels all the while mumbling about cheap kitchenware made him reel back with a grimace.

Mickey stood and watched his sister clean and move _his_ furniture before getting up for another mug-- a _better mug_ , The whole ordeal showing him that he’d created a home for the exact thing he’d chastised Ian for. Comfort.

The day rolled on with time being measured only in how many pots of coffee they made. Mandy refusing to put clothes on and telling him to not look at what he wasn’t interested in and that shouldn’t be hard anyway because _you’re gay_ and _I’m your sister_.

“You plan on moving in or something?” He raised an eyebrow at her while she mumbled annoyances at his lack of food into the refrigerator. “Because you know you got your own home downstairs with all your own stupid food.”

“You kicking me out?” She smiled before grabbing a carton of milk and turning to the half empty box of cereal spilled out on the counter. “You should really get some bowls.”

“I have bowls.” Mickey yanked the mug away and put it back turning to the plastic kitchenware he had sitting above the microwave. His hand shoved her the package and she exploded with laughter.

“Plastic bowls Mickey? Really?” The end crumbs of Cocoa Puffs fell out in tiny dusty bits. “That’s a new form of ghetto even for you.”

“Fuck off.”

They used to do this – not really but a form of it. There had been a summer when he was 12 and she was 10 _almost_ 11 that they stayed inside holed up every Saturday and Sunday morning. It started begrudgingly, as an accident. Mickey’s leg all fucked up from a bad twist while he had run from some dipshit meth head that wanted his balls for cheating him out of a deal. He couldn’t leave the house for almost 2 weeks while waiting for it to heal well enough to at least be walked on again.

_“Wanna watch cartoons?” Mandy opened her mouth to bite at her knees folded up to her chin. He glared over the couch frame he was sprawled across and wondered what had happened to her the last time she’d asked that question. What word’s she had learned the hard way to bite into her skin instead of out loud._

_Mickey reached down to grab at his leg tenderly making sure to not bruise his swollen ankle anymore than it already was. “Yea whatever just make sure it’s funny and not some girly shit.”_

He swore he would only stay in that house with his little sister all cramped and sweating in the middle of summer for as long as he absolutely had to. Because summer was when Mickey could get money and get off. Could be three alleys and four streets away with some other dumb fuck who thought that they needed to just fuck anything that moved and he didn’t have to feel so weird about it. Summer love is not real, it’s summer heat. They got confused on that one.

But Mandy’s stupid face always scrunched up in just the right way where he could never tell if she was going to laugh or cry and somehow he’d managed to waste 4 more weekends with her. His leg now strong enough to run from even Terry but still— _wanna watch cartoons_ always seemed to be a bigger question.

He looked at her now, still wearing his clothes and stealing his shit. Still watching fucking cartoons and although she didn’t ask this morning he had sat down next to her with full intention of making it through the usual lineup. And he wonders if they ever thought that they were happy that summer, if they ever truly were able to sit and relax and laugh at things that had no meaning –

The fact that the tv had ended up with a foot through it and Terry twisting his leg in a new fashion should have told him. They had never really been able to enjoy this.

“Mandy?” Ian’s voice echoed through the other side of his front door. “Hey are—“ Mickey imagined the way a lump slid down his throat. “Are you in there?”

His sister curled her toes in before turning toward him and looking wide eyed. He couldn’t read her fucking mind. What did she want – what was he supposed to say?

Mandy unfolded before opening the door like she really had goddamn moved in and he was just a roommate living in his own corner of silent idiocy. It’s hard to have an opinion when you can’t form a sound.

Ian stood effortlessly.  He was one of those people that somehow looked more stunning with pain and that made Mickey envious. Each patch of skin that could hold a bruise instead held a story and his muscles even tired and hungover and laced with an ache for a touch that wasn’t satisfied – he looked unharmed.

And suddenly Mickey couldn’t help but realize how fucking self conscious he felt right then. Like any drunk girl at a party who cried in front of all her friends about how her dad is an alcoholic and she doesn’t feel pretty. That sick feeling of knowing that some disgustingly true part of you danced out on display the night before and now you’re left wondering if denies and lies are strong enough anymore.

He couldn’t stop himself from speaking. “Hey.”

Ian looked away from Mandy having almost been appraising her existence and up to where Mickey stood in dirty boxers and a ripped tshirt.

“Hey.” He even sounded better than him.

Mandy placed a hand against Ian’s arm and no sooner dropped the fingers back down to her side. He wanted to know what she felt – what couldn’t be seen but what could still prick you and was it _him?_ Was it Mickey? Did she reach out hoping to find solace but felt nothing except the hot burn of her brother left over like acid. Should he apologize for that? For leaving another shitty mark.

“Wanna watch cartoons?” Mickey’s throat felt dry and Mandy twisted her face like he had just admitted to murder.

Ian looked ugly for a second – the only time his envious ability to disconnect fails. When the second before you decide to run or stay crosses and it seems like it’s too much to make a decision about something like that.

“Yea I just—“ He turned back to Mandy offering a smile. “You got coffee?”

His sister spat out a breath of amusement. “Do we have coffee? Who do you think I am?”

She turned quick allowing for the breeze of her actions to once again show her ass to the world. And maybe years ago he’d have still been pissed because his sister had loved Ian exactly how he thinks maybe you should love someone—selflessly.

But it was different now, now that they played this game just as much as she had. And how does one address the elephant in the room when it’s grown razor sharp teeth deforming to such a grand size that it eats every goddamn moron in that room. How do you address the room? How do you address what you’re now stuck inside of?

Ian walked over to drain the last bit of caffeine from their 6th pot and Mickey saw it then.

The spider web of broken blood vessels just barely peeking out from below the collar of his shirt. The evidence of Mickey still wanting to crawl inside of him and take him down kicking and screaming because if you’re dying for love is it that bad?

His body trembled and he made to turn away but a quiet whisper slid over into his skin just before he broke free.

“I would have left with you.”

Ian’s eyes burned wild and Mandy walked passed unnoticed. Her form again becoming one with the couch but his world was spinning.

Because it was more than just some stupid run away promise. It was accessory in the first degree.


	19. Chapter 19

“Where did you put her?”

He looked toward Mickey standing there with the scent of whiskey now exuding through his skin. He hadn’t managed to put pants on and somewhere between Mandy insisting on taking shots he’d lost his shirt too.

“Your room.” He reached out for the bottle. “Where else would I put her?”

“How about her own fucking house and—“ Mickey stumbled just barely before dragging his nails scratching over his chest and leaving angry red lines in their wake. “You can go with her.”

The air crackled in response to the evident recognition of what was happening – this was _angry_ drunk. Ian licked his lips before biting hard to keep inside a moan or stupid words that would cut the entire experiment short before it had the chance to begin.

Amazing what alcohol can do to a person. To a Milkovich so tough yet in seconds reduced to shaky tears because he’s got vodka strumming through his veins. Or right when they’re just about to get into a good rhythmic fuck and he’s thrown clear across the room because suddenly the beer is bringing up that fear of dying for this.

It could be poetic if you squinted and looked upside down.

But there was something electric about when Mickey got angry drunk. Something so tempting and he could feel it pulling at his guts because he wanted to jump right into the shallow end of that pool. The exact thing they tell you not to do but his ankles weren’t needed much these days, he could afford shattered bones if it meant revelation.

“I’ll leave if you want me to leave.”

Mickey stared eyes squinted with a vein bulging large and small just above his ribs. His goddamn heart too big to be held in and blood raging to show that this was a man meant to bleed. He wondered if he ever saw himself this way – such an intricate web of soft spots just barely being kept safe under a shell of sarcasm and spit hate.

He wasn’t a good actor; a great liar but if those faces fell then there was no point in the words.

“Just –“ The whites around his eyes grew showing how unkempt the human body really looks in moments of terror. “Fuck just don’t _go—_ just,” He reached back over the counter leaving a marked indentation into his stomach. “Give me that.”

The Jack Daniels cap left a burn against his fingers as Mickey ripped it away. Slices of flaked cut skin now lining up and down like shutter blinds.

Ian cracked his knuckle flexing and popping each joint before chancing the move to Mickey’s side. His skin was hot – radiating even from a foot away.

“What’s the matter?”

The sun had set hours ago and the entire apartment was left blanketed in darkness. One of those can’t be bothered to get up and anticipate the night or turn on lights type of days. The overcast of a setting sun even giving them warning of how she’d be gone soon – the shot glasses get murky and your hands start reaching for the wrong flesh.

Still it just seems too much to turn on a light until you’re in complete darkness. Unfortunately—it’s harder to find once that happens.

“Nothing.” Mickey’s voice betrayed him. “I hate taking shots.”

“Yea I know.”

_“First one to seven gets blown tonight.” He smiled sloppily already feeling the warmth of the cheap wine Mickey had insisted was too pussy for him to drink flush his skin._

_“That’s fucking stupid.”_

_Ian looked across at the scrunch of features and how Mickey shifted just a little too much to his left foot instead of his right. The left foot that hurt when you applied too much pressure from some untreated accident as a child._

_“What you don’t like shots?” Ian questioned reaching over to grab at the coke that had fallen somewhere between them into a lower level of dirty clothes. Mickey had wanted to go to the roof but Ian was too tired. Insisted he was overreacting when going on about how the echoes of strangers rang softer than each step and creak of a floorboard – it was easier to expect anyone to catch you than someone in particular._

_Mickey’s hand shot out harsh. “I can fucking take shots.”_

_He looked on for 10 minutes watching the man before him choke down the svedka of all things – a twist of disgust reaching out from his lips up through his nose and to watering eyes._

_It was that night Ian learned Mickey was a masochist. 9 shots in before he slammed his glass down insisting that he’d won and he couldn’t even argue back. He had won, fair and square._

_When he woke up in the middle of the night to a mouthful of cotton and his head pounding he reached out blindly next to Mickey’s bed for water. The vodka that touched his lips instead expelled onto the floor along with whatever shit they’d eaten in a drunken stupor._

_He’d like to say that moment in time is why he has trust issues._

“You didn’t have to take them.” Ian glanced up through eyes bleared and Mickey looked kinda beautiful when he was mad.

Because what was mad really? It was caring. It was one way or the other loving or hating something to the point of feeling it rock through your body.  The best thing about mad is that it’s a cheap layer of defense and not many know that you’re gonna get to sad from there. It’s just about how many hits you’re willing to take in the meantime.

The bottle hit hard onto the counter as Mickey’s body rippled. “She’s a shit show. She better not puke in my bed.”

He started to move closer feeling more so than seeing the way his skin bunched in tense patches of anticipation. Maybe he was being cruel, because he was drunk – definitely, but Mickey was sick with it. With the alcohol clouding his mind that had officially showcased itself as on overload.

4 years ago had he tried that shit at the bar he’d have left with a black eye and not the lingering feeling of having been in the wrong. Tables had turned—spun around putting them on the same side reaching for the same knife and someone was going to get their finger cut.

Ian rubbed at the skin peeling from the bottle and laughed at the irony.

“Why do you take shots if you hate them so much?” He looked up to Mickey’s unmoving stance. His muscles so rigid he might have been holding his entire internal organ system together with pure focus alone. “You put yourself through it on purpose –“ He looked away frowning. “It’s sick.”

“Fuck you.”

“It is.”

“Fuck you—“

“It’s unnecessary shit and you love it – you love to sink into your own self pity and pain and pretend that no one else is affected by you.” He sucked in a breath feeling his adrenaline begin to pump. “Poor Mickey Milkovich no one cares about him -- but you’re too selfish to see the bodies you’re leaving in your _fucking_ wake.”

The hit came fast but not hard. And _that_ , that shock of still standing and feeling the bruise melt away instead of stick sent a pain shooting much deeper inside him than anything else could have.

“Shut up.” Mickey bunched his fists hitting hard onto the counter and digging until Ian could swear the welts were forming before his eyes. “ _Shut up shut up shut up_ ”.

A snore slipped out through the broken bedroom door and Mandy’s sleep was the most envious thing in the world. A moment of bliss deep enough that you weren’t talking to ghosts, just entirely completely asleep.

“You want to be destroyed you know.” Ian spoke again feeling like just saying it was getting him hard. The bottle now back in his hands and it’s like a blur when you start running your mouth. A switched flip from victim to martyr. “But you’re killing me.”

The ping of his cell phone rang too loud startling both men into a twitch of broken moments.

Todd’s name flashed across the screen.

“You’re too good for him.” Mickey murmured hoarse and maybe his anger had melted down because it sounded strangled. “You know that?”

Ian turned heading back to the couch slamming the bottle straight into the television. Who was he thinking he could live a casual life? Who gave him the right to invite him over and let him drink his booze and watch cartoons like they were what – _6_? Or worse – like they had any right to innocence.

“What-- and I’m not too good for _you_?” The air seemed to shrink sucking out life forms and Mickey’s bed squeaked. Mandy now tossing and turning because Ian was hell bent on making sure that no one forgot that this wasn’t okay. This wasn’t over and up for debate as a memory of ‘ _remember that time we were all dying and laughing about it?’_ He pulled around seeing that shards of glass were now everywhere – Mickey’s apartment all but vandalized and he figured he should say something. Apologize, redeem some part of himself.

“I killed your dad.”


	20. Chapter 20

“You need to go.”

Ian stared eyes wide his arms starting to reach out in an ineffective attempt to grab hold of the world spinning below him.

“Mick—“

“You need to go now.” He spit the words feeling blood start to pool in his mouth lacing his tongue in a tang of pennies that would take hours to wash out. “You need to get the fuck out.”

Mandy thrashed onto her back looking possessed. Like a monster invaded her head and the night was too much to take now – a seizure of sorts and all Mickey could think was _please don’t wake up_. What an excellent brother he was.

Ian didn’t move. Kept his hands locked firm onto the surface of all things until he went over himself and slammed open fists down on white knuckles. The sting of rejection – the revolting scent of _take back your confession. You are not forgiven here_.

His body seemed out of place as quickly as things had settled into any sort of normality. For the first time in his life Mickey couldn’t look at him.

And as Ian scrambled-- kicked like some defunct prototype not yet ready for the shelves, Mickey could think to do only one thing. Could only muster the courage to make sure that the final blow would forever be the deepest because what is the point of selflessness if you’re unable to kill yourself doing it?

“Don’t come back.”

His words all that was left to show for any sort of revelation. A hollow reaction to what he wished he could say.

\---

“Where’s Ian?”

Mandy rolled over yawning and reaching a hand up to stretch her skinny torso. Mickey never loved his sister more than in her first few minutes of waking. As kids he never saw it—was always a room away or eating the last bowl of cereal. Destroying her things and her unfathomable optimism for a new day. Constantly taking her mornings and squishing out all possible joy to match his because night had come and gone leaving the world an empty place again.

He hated mornings.

But Mandy had bleary eyes and slow motor functions in her waking moments. A fog of bliss that had to have been some deep veil of ignorance and misunderstanding of her surroundings. No chance yet to feel some gutted disappointment in her family and Mickey could say that she was truly nice during these times. A young girl – completely innocent.

“He left.”

She frowned propping both elbows below her back and sinking into the mattress. “What did you do?”

Mickey crumpled a can under his fingers scowling. “What the fuck makes you think I did something?” The crack of a new tab being opened and he’s been chain drinking – chain drinking? Could he call it that? Chain smoking but with beer.

Alcoholism, that was it. That’s the word.

“Because.” Mandy was sitting now. Her legs sharp and crossed and glaringly white. “When you feel bad you drink.”

He scoffed knocking back another gulp and contorting his back past the point of relief and directly into _about to break_. “I always drink.”

She stared with crusted flecks of mascara littered down her cheeks. His bed would be stained.

“That’s kinda my point.”

\---

“Did it live?” Jessica’s voice pierced through his thoughts and he felt nearly electrocuted. The shock of waking up from sleep you hadn’t realized you’d fallen into.

“What?” Ian questioned before refilling her glass. His hand hitting a rhythmic beat of pain below the bar.

Her hair was curled tonight. Big ringlets bouncing and framing either side of her face to look much smaller than it really was. He couldn’t help but think of her as an oversized doll, sad and painted over again each morning to be someone new—ruined by the end of the night but no one cared. She’d be different tomorrow anyway.

The long nails of a middle and pointer finger tapped against the counter to the tune of a faint song playing somewhere in the back. “Your puppy.” A smile played at each corner of her red lips and the whiskey seemed to slide down her throat unfazed. “You look like somebody just shot it.”

“We can’t all look as good as you I guess.”

She dropped a hand rolling her eyes and pointed a finger to her head. “I’ve got jizz in my hair. If your night is going worse than mine then we’ve got a real problem.”

Does admitting to murder count? Can he admit to admitting? “Comes with the job I thought.” She put her middle finger slowly into her mouth rolling a pink tongue around the silver ring before flipping him off with a _pop_ from her lips. “You stroke it you own it kinda thing.”

“Oh I own it baby.”

He laughed and topped off the glass once more. “Yea I bet.”

“You know one time—“ Jessica smiled again like my memory was a joke not privy for public consumption. “I was screwing this guy right? And his wife comes home one day catching us in the act like a goddamn soap opera.” She paused dipping a pinky into the glass before running it against a scrape on her arm. “But the classy kind. The kind you never even find out about the pregnancy.”

Ian leaned over landing his elbow into a puddle of water. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Honest truth here.” The door to the bar opened to a loud group of tourists, the kind you can spot a mile away. Looking for cheap thrills and stories to bring back to the family they left at home. _Yes Johnny I saw the tall buildings. No sweetheart I didn’t go out much—most definitely did not trip and fall inside somebody else._

“Barkeep!” The tallest man in the group slurred just likethe first asshole friend who always dies in scary movies. You know the member of the main group that you can honestly think _no harm no foul_.

“Are you listening?”

Jessica narrowed her eyes letting her lips pucker in disapproval.

"Yea yea sleeping with some guy wife walks in—“

Her shoulders rolled forward making the slab of bone beneath her chest concave. “Right so she walks in and I’m thinking oh shit—I mean the woman is literally seeing us fucking connected-- and he wilts like a flower before I’ve even got a second to assess the danger level.” One last sip and Ian finds himself enamored with the way she paints the glass. Red kisses and nostalgic flicks of a tongue. “If I can get past that you can get past whatever pity party you got going on over there.”

“What’d the wife do?”

Her shoulders lifted casually. “Shot him a week later. Walked in on him with another girl and you know what they say, three times the charm.”

Ian’s hand shook against the bottle and the other containers rattled. A damn near matting call for all other losers to come closer. We have alcohol, in case you didn’t notice. “You get past that?”

The curls bounced up and down with her nods. “We did actually. Talked to her last week.”

“Let me just get this straight.” He narrowed his eyes dropping each word to a whisper. “You’re saying that I shouldn’t sweat my own shit because other people are committing murder and doing just fine.”

Jessica stopped, restacking each vertebra of spine on top to realign the attempt at posture. “I guess that’s exactly what I’m saying, yea.” Ian turned barreling back through the doors of the kitchen and out toward the street. “Wait where are you going?”

“Gotta make a call.”

 

His fingers fumbled too fast for the phone and he could do nothing but delete and retype numbers until the right one began to ring. Frustration mounting with each mistake and it was only his own fault, his own limbs deciding not to work.

“What do you want?” Mickey’s voice answered gruff and sounding like he’d gone hoarse from screaming.

“I killed your dad.”

The emptiness crackled making it not that silent at all and he wondered quickly just what pure silence would be life. Deafening he supposed.

The scrape of a chair against linoleum dragged across the floor into his ear. “I got it the first time you said it.”

His breath smelled like cigarettes like an ashtray and Todd would sleep at his own house finally because he hates that smell.

“I tell you that I kill your dad and you have no reaction at all. Why is that? What is wrong with you that you can’t even—“

Mickey grunted catching a yell between his teeth. “Will you shut the fuck up about it? You want to fucking end up in jail?” The phone clicked echoing his voice further away. “Jesus are you outside right now? Can people _hear_ you.”

“Mickey—“

“You’re just fucking wrong Ian.”

And Like a rubber band being pulled longer and longer that you know will snap but you’re still surprised, still jump at that quick sting of whiplash—Mickey snapped.

Because he was smart enough to not associate himself with things too dumb for him and dumb enough to not know the difference. But his bite back, the slap from that recoiling break Ian was watching begin to falter was _always_ unable to be hidden.

You don’t get angry if you don’t care – you don’t care if you don’t know.

“It was you wasn’t it?” Ian breathed out in almost idiotic surprise. “You did it didn’t you?”

The line clicked dead hard and fast.

And with his fingers now locked into his own hair pulling and scraping to serve as some form of distraction, Ian laughed.

He had jizz in his hair too. 


	21. Chapter 21

There’s a time and a place for everything. That’s what Fiona had always used to say. Any day that he found himself running through the doors with a new black eye or some longed look of damage lingering just underneath the surface of his skin. She would sigh and give the half smile that took him 10 years to understand as not pitying, but just plain old sad.

_“There’s a time and a place for everything Ian.”_

_It had been Dave Malady that day. He was 13 and bruised from a swift kick to the back of his knees. Dave could only ever serve a sneak attack and despite Ian still being a bit lanky there was that rumor --_

_The rumor about his temper and the time he broke Jeremy Lane’s nose. Best to sucker punch Ian Gallagher from behind – don’t want to take any chances._

_Lip stared arms crossed and seething. Blood on his hands from where he’d grabbed at him demanding ‘who did it who was it?’_

_“The time is now the place is six feet under.”_

_“Lip—“_

_“I’m gonna kill him.”_

_He pulled his face away from Fiona’s hands. The move aggravated and harsh and he could feel bits of skin catch on her nail. “Do you think you could?”_

_“What?” Lip collapsed on the couch kicking his feet up. His hands red and lingering above all solid surfaces so as not to spread Ian around anymore than what was already too much._

_“Kill him?”_

_His brother’s eyes stared unwavering. He could see the pupils shrink and expand with a mind of their own like the physical sensations inside him were causing pure madness. It was incredible. “Yea I could.”_

_Ian smiled, his lip cracking and Fiona watched, sat on her heels in awe as the scene unfolded._

_“Me too.”_

Ian’s calves burned sprinting two at a time up the stairwell in their building. Bypassing the first floor then the 3rd and continuing in an intoxicating spiral upward. The exact opposite direction his mind seemed headed and the irony was not lost on him.

His hands stung against the rooftop door colliding with rust and copper. A place avoided at all costs not even fingers dared to reach out and keep it from aging. Rain colliding hard against each molecule of his body propelling him faster – the horizon directly there disguised in city light just a few yards away.

It was slippery, this was _stupid_. But like being young and feeling a sense of invincibility there was a voice smiling somewhere urging him on. _You’re not dying tonight_.

He felt the wind jut from his stomach against the concrete ledge coming up enough to make it apparent that to fall is no accident. Ian peered over the building seeing nothing and feeling everything. It’s dizzying to see an open street devoid of life – the greatest mirage.

He’d rather see someone weeping to show the solidification of just what pain there is walking around. It’s less intimidating than to merely have to imagine the possibilities.

The sound of his sneakers scraping and slipping against the wall climbing higher toward the sky was lost instantly. Just before standing straight he gripped the ledge digging hard into the tips of his fingers. He wanted to linger just for a minute to appreciate the view, just in case he really did fall.

And with a dizzying intake of air, Ian let go—standing tall with balance obscured only by his brain. His toes wavered while lifting each arm and letting his fingers twist and curl against the rain. The blood-curdling scream that licked his lips just loud enough for his heart to pump the way it begged to.

\---

Mickey wouldn’t say that he’d been waiting for Ian. Not necessarily that he’d spent nearly two fucking hours sitting on the disgusting bench near their front steps doing nothing but watching time pass until he got home. He wouldn’t say that –

But he would do that, did do it.

Right around when it had started to rain and he let his mind wander to how damn good it actually felt was when some asshole ran barreling through a puddle splashing a wave of disruption.

“Fucker!”

His words rolling swiftly off the guys back and landing in a sad heap at the ground beneath him staring and asking _are you an idiot?_

Mickey jumped up to run after him tripping and landing hard on his knee at the last step. The crunch of pain screaming through him just long enough to realize that his body hadn’t been this beaten and broken since the _last_ time he had seen Ian. Something about how love destroys and all that reflecting in shards of shattered composure in his mind. Mandy would have had a field day with it.

It’s funny—chasing someone. You lose all sense of practicality.

He runs through fire and so do you. Monkey see monkey do, following a lemming right off the cliff type thing. There is no room for logic. No time to think about the elevator vs the stairs, no time to even question where exactly you’re running to.

Love only follows, there is no leader. Because you can fall into a trap of thinking that you have the power – a leader to your own army of one designed solely to invade your heart. It’s not until they stop and leave, turn around disappearing with only a hollow memory of feeling full left that you realize you were following them all along.

Love is getting lost in a round room.

And Mickey had only these thoughts spinning through his mind as he watched frozen while Ian stood full and strong on the edge of the roof. His arms outstretched with each vein bulging in twisted jumps. He was shaking and he was screaming and it was beautiful.

“What are you doing?”

You could have told him someone else was on the roof speaking and he would have believed you. The words ringing clear but immediately lost from his mouth-- he felt high.

Ian’s head turned slow and Mickey thought about how fucking tragic it would be if he fell at that moment. “What are _you_ doing?”

The rain pooled just inside his mouth like drowning him wasn’t enough, it wanted to become him. Work its way over his tongue and let him know intimately what a kiss from death might be like.

The question hung between them. The precipice of fucking everything.

“I’m not sure.”

Thunder clapped making Ian jump and Mickey saw him fall in slow motion. Watched as his world melted into a before and after in seconds.

But he didn’t fall.

His body arched with a violence and desperation most people can only dream to achieve. To _feel_ that strongly in a moment. And instead of feeling the exhilaration of flight, Ian came tumbling down to the concrete reality of earth. His heap of limbs and huffed breaths now safe on hands and knees having forgotten whatever caught their attention in the first place.

Mandy had made him watch the Harry Potter movies almost every week after they came out. The one thing he can say she truly got passionate about and her biggest secret to date.

There’s one scene he remembers clearly—some stupid kid whose constantly getting stunned and freezing the fuck up without any control. No suitable purpose in his life except to stand watching and waiting for everyone around him to leave or die.

Suddenly his character didn’t seem so pointless to him. In this moment of grand gestured shock—he seemed the most relatable character in the whole damn movie.

“I want you.”

The rain pulling up a whole new surge of vitality. Each drop coming faster and with a friend. He could feel it everywhere.

Ian’s shoulders moved in a ripple as his head hung shaking and Mickey could swear he was laughing.

“Yea I know.”


	22. Chapter 22

He moved his feet feeling the slosh of rain gathering between each fabric of step. The squish causing a nails on chalk board effect making him think that if he could just stay still—it would calm these tremors.

“Let’s go inside.”

Ian looked up, an array of questions fielding his request silently jumping across each pore of skin. Who the fuck did he think he was bossing him around, making _demands_. He might as well have said it. It’s what he showed no matter fact or fiction.

“You know I’ve got this really great part of me—“ He clawed against the soaked through shirt like it was pulsating. A heart or some sick infection dying to break free and itching with a tick of a time bomb you knew would go off right when you needed it to. Right when you needed a reason. “A part that tells me this is all fucking—“ The water dripped down over his lips and Mickey wondered what sin it was to be humming with want at the sight. “Shit.”

“Ian—“

“Don’t call me that.”

“That’s your fucking name.”

“Not to you.” There it was.

Mickey raised his hands in defeat looking up further to the sky and blinking back each new droplet. “What do you want me to say?”

It was amazing how many times in his life lately his thoughts went back to Mandy as a child. To all the shit she used to say that for some reason made perfect sense to her but just sounded like the insane ramblings of an underdeveloped mind to any other ear.

Even more amazing that all he could think now was how fucking right she was. And maybe that’s the thing – kids have this perfect view of the world because their brains aren’t muddled yet. Sure, he’s still pretty sure that barbie’s don’t actually carry on conversations with each other but maybe the whole idea of angry voice versus nice voice versus stupid voice actually held some value.

He could feel it coming on—could practically see his sister standing there arms crossed and 7 years old scolding, _you’re using your angry voice._

“I guess I don’t really know.” Ian’s body jumped forward in a shock of a laugh. As if the statement was grand, was a fucking joke of the gods.

Mickey could feel it in his voice. That waiver just before you say something you should chew down and swallow instead.

“Yes you do.” The burn boiled and churned in his gut because he was right. He knew it this time and if sitting watching his four walls in solidarity had taught him anything over the past few years – it taught him that you don’t always need to use a punch. “You know exactly what you want and that’s an apology. You want to hear how ruined I’ve been and you want to get off on it because you’re fucking destroyed.” He stepped forward gaining the upper hand in proximity but not height and definitely not stability because the scent of sweat was making him sway. “Look at yourself fucking some guy you hate just to stem whatever you’ve got going on—“ The muscles above his eye twitched and the idle idea of dying before he could finish the thought made the words rush out even further. “When really you’d rather be fucking me.”

Another clap of thunder vibrated through the sky. Had he offended her? The fucking universe or mother earth or whatever it was people who cared about recycling and saving small animals believed in.

“What you think you’re all high and mighty now?” Ian snarled, a fire flickering in and out dancing in shadows against his pupils. “Because you think you’ve figured it out? You’re a coward whose first instinct is to run while leaving everyone else behind—leaving _me_ behind to—“ Mickey wanted to reached out and calm the erratic jumps of his chest, but it seemed counterproductive. “To clean up your mess.”

His hands threw the man before him down before the movement registered throughout his mind. “Who the fuck asked you to?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ian spit blood from his mouth and he knew it couldn’t have been from him. The hit was clean to the chest but his teeth were tainted – a quick bite to the tongue or cheek. Had to have been.

The rain pelted hard reminding him that he was still outside and one of them could just jump. Could end it all either as a martyr or a killer and what was the difference anyway? To die for a cause or to murder for one. The cause doesn’t give a shit about you, never knew your life or what it could have been.

And love was the trickiest cause of all. What with also being your reason to live—he was all turned around.

“I left.” He spit too just in case in case he was bleeding also. “I left because what else was I supposed to do? Tell me _Ian_ —“ The emphasis blatant and mocking like some  strung up fuck you. “Is it better to leave licking your wounds or stay and feed the infection?”

 

 

_“What the fuck are you doing?” Mickey scrunched his face in disgust at the way Ian picked at the skin on his arm. A thin line of blood forming and running dangerously close to his sheets._

_The muscles of his neck twitched and bunched as he looked up away from the wound to meet his gaze. “Bad habit.”_

_“What fucking mutilating yourself?”_

_Ian smiled keeping his eyes locked while leaning down to suck at the spot of skin. Mickey moved to adjust the way it made him hard again after having just gone at it 15 minutes ago._

_“You squeamish around blood now?”_

_He snorted at the stupidity of the question, like asking a fish if it was afraid of water. “It’s gonna get infected you keep picking at it like that.”_

_A smile spread across the younger mans face. “And then I’d just get a nice vacay in the hospital with my own room and fancy drugs.”_

_Mickey reached over for a cigarette brushing too close to Gallagher’s skin. “Yea but you’ll lose a fucking limb.”_

 

Ian stayed sitting in the puddle he’d fallen into. His shirt clinging mercilessly to each outline of muscle highlighting the shiver that could not be suppressed in such a moment of bare bone emotion. The breeze only adding to the gimmick making it damn near impossible to keep your cool.

The punny irony pulled at his lips but Mickey didn’t want to smile. Didn’t want a chance to leave well enough alone and drama can only feed off pain.

Suddenly the idea of offending the entire universe came flooding back because that was it—nothing was more offensive than the pure stench of pain.

“Do you even care about any of this?”

Every possibility of meaning rushed at Mickey like a goddamn stampede. “Do you mean you?” He hiccupped, water catching in his throat constricting and making each word sound broken. “Do you mean that you claim to have killed my fucking dad?” The laughter bubbled risking sending everything to shit. Like when you cry when you’re angry and laugh when you’re sad. Who the fuck wired people that way? God—some god to cause cross hairs turning a tsunami of hate into nothing but a puddle of sorrow.

How was he supposed to admit to emotion when every second, every clawed attempt, left him gawking at a disconnect of thought and action.

Ian’s mouth opened moving to form words lost to himself but Mickey could see the tiny outline. The mumbled formation of ‘ _yes’_.

A tremble of nerves ran through his body. He’d asked the question, he had to answer.

“I care.”

And he thought he might just be able to hate them in that instant. Because at the end of the day it was brutally simple yet somehow the only evidence of their love was a body rotted and unmissed. An open case left dusty on a cop’s desk that no doubt didn’t give a shit about anyone involved – A cold bed and another man stealing the touches that should have been his for 3 years now.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” Mickey blurted out finally near hysterics. No longer knowing what was rain and what was his own hearts betrayal. “I killed him Ian. You fucking moron this whole time thinking the blood was on your hands—“ Suddenly they were closer, centimeters apart tasting the breath from each others lips, he leaned in closer. Just barely brushing. “It wasn’t on your hands asshole, it was on mine.”

 

 

 

Hello everyone :) There are only a few more chapters left! I want to say 4 more. Thanks everyone for reading! Hope you’ve enjoyed.


	23. Chapter 23

Mandy can remember this one specific episode of Family Guy. The one where Stewie goes through his _mine_ phase grabbing a hold of anything in striking distance. It didn’t matter that he didn’t really want it or that it was all fucking Lois’ anyway—it was his. _Mine_ _mine mine_.

She doesn’t know if she ever had that phase. Sure as shit knows that her dad wouldn’t have noticed over his own need to have and devour and destroy. His his _his_.

Maybe Mickey remembers, she should ask him.

But even over this idea of having a mine phase, she wonders why everyone was not permanently stuck in a _why_ phase. Why is the sky blue? Why do we die? Why give us freedom over sanity and does sanity equal freedom? If we always have a choice then why are there times that we don’t?

Her head lolled off to one side resting brutally hard onto the bone jutting just slightly out of her shoulder. She could smell him on her skin, feel the weight of the mattress dipping with his body and that stupid _almost_ snore that slipped out only as evidence of a deep _deep_ sleep.

Mandy thinks that it should say something about who you can fall asleep next to. Whose presence you feel able enough to shut off and cloak yourself in complete vulnerability. It should say something, but it doesn’t.

Lip’s back tightened with a tremor of muscles running along his spine and she frowned stretching and leaning side to side waiting for her own to crack. It was still nighttime—the rain pounding against her window making it almost impossible to tell if she’d only slept a few hours or straight through to the next day.

“Fuck you.” Her words only bouncing back against the glow of his skin and jumping down her own throat. Eat me; you’re already down the rabbit hole.

The sheets wrapped in tendrils around her bare body sending a shiver of goose bumps along her arms the second her bare feet hit the floor. Toes curling against the shock of cool temperature made her nails scrape and she could feel the bile rise in the back of her throat. The worst feeling – hands down.

“You’re a fucking idiot—“ She turned facing the glare of her own reflection against the window. Sex hair snarled and knotted in ropes tying her to her own bad choices. “You’re a fucking _idiot_.” The words whispered now so as not to awake the mistake.

Lip’s cologne clung deeply against her skin working its way into her pores. Becoming a part of her and that scent would never be able to be smelled again. She hated that, how strong the scents of life were able to within a moments notice stab you in your gut with a knife you had no clue you’d sharpened.

Lip’s cologne, dad and meth, Mickey and cigarettes, Ian and Mickey—

Mandy shook the surprised thought from her mind. The fact that Ian always sort of smelled familiar, like a cocktail mixture of booze and clean linen and the cloud of smoke seemingly permanently hung in her brother’s room.

Strange how close you need to be to something in order to allow for it to fool you.

She threw one more look to the bed for safety before slowly wiggling her fingers under the window and prying it open. The first rip of sound echoed like a bomb sending a pain shooting directly up her neck and toward where Mandy imagined a brain stem to be. Her eyes watered with each new pulse of sensation but to still see Lip sleeping unaware – at least her heart could simmer back down to a rate only somewhat irregular.

And as the wind brought a mist of rain directly against her cheeks cooling the flush suddenly crawling up her face she smelled it. The same mix of whiskey and laundry and nicotine that seemed unable to scrub clean from either of their lives. The same smell that somehow still slinked through their apartment even before Mickey had walked back into this fevered fucking dream.

Mandy pulled for the sweatshirt hanging limp on the edge of the bed having been pulled off and abused in whatever throws she’d been victim to hours earlier. Mickey didn’t let her take it but more importantly, he didn’t stop her from taking it.

She wondered if he was cold now, bitter and pissed off about having lost it in this weather. But more than that she hoped that wherever they were to allow for that fucking smell to travel through the air that they could go to sleep that night unafraid of waking up.

\---

They stayed on that roof more or less only able to stare at each other in silence for another 30 minutes. Ian unable to make himself move no matter how numb his hands had gone wondered if he even had anything left to say.

Because sometimes enough time really does go by to let sleeping dogs lie. Lay? Lie—He supposed they lie more than they lay.

Mickey blinked first. He won’t tell him that, but Ian knows it, knows even more so that it was on purpose. You can only take so much and even being a Milkovich, he can’t blame him for that.

But as they walked now through the building halls in still an almost uncensored silence, Ian could feel his will fraying.

“I hope you’re wrong.”

Eyes slid over questioning him in silence. The rain still dripping off of their clothes leaving a trail of an undeniable path directly to their steps. Just 3 years ago Ian was sure that Mickey would never be caught dead in such a compromising position. Too risky to leave any evidence of themselves behind. It was oddly comforting now to see it there plain as day even if only until it dries.

“I’m not.” Mickey’s voice caught breaking on the words tricking them into a whisper.

“You could be—“

“I’m not.” He shot back.

There was no break this time.

Ian stopped, his feet soaking in wet socks. The whole night had felt like a dream that you keep waking up from ever 20 minutes. Each shock of consciousness more alarming than the first until you start thinking maybe I should just wake up for the day but you can’t because it’s only 6am. Or even worse, like a dream of going to sleep right before you wake up in real life. A trick of reality—did you really sleep? And even so, does it matter if you don’t feel like you did at all?

He still hadn’t figured out which one Mickey was, the dream of sleep or the reality dragging him far away from it.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” He chewed the words over his lips before starting up a stuttered walk closer and closer to something seemingly always out of fucking reach. Even with his fingers around him, Mickey’s mind ran far away from the heart he was unable to get unstuck. It was self-preservation, and truly, maybe that’s why he’d made it this long. “You could have fucking _told_ me.” Ian’s words growing in agitation at the thought of being unable to make any more of a difference than just forming sounds.

“Because you didn’t need to know.”

He smashed his fist into the side of the wall inches before Mickey’s face creating an intoxicating mix of fear and syringe dripped pride. His blue eyes ice and never wavering no matter how much he wished they would. “You really think that?”

“Fuck off—“

“Look at me Mickey.” He turned grabbing both his shoulders knowing full well he was bleeding on him now. A watered down landscape of the entire scenery and he was the goddamn paint. “Tell me I don’t matter to you.”

“Oh jesus fuck—“

Ian dug his fingers deeper past the bruising skin into his bones. “Tell me I don’t matter to you.”

Mickey’s neck thrashed around turning left and right in any attempt of movement to break the contact. Like the words themselves were crushing his lungs and if only he could just get some space—just a little air.

“You don’t matter to me.”

The mold of Ian’s body melted hard and closer like a challenge. “Tell me I don’t matter to you.”

“You don’t matter to me.”

“Tell me I don’t matt—“

His words cut off with a clash of lips and teeth biting brutal and desperate. Mickey pushing harder back against his own weight allowing Ian’s hands to crawl from his shoulder to face smearing blood like war paint. He could feel more than hear the sound in his throat the as a tongue slid forward to rewrite the lies you tell when you’re scared.

Because they were scared, they always had been. Not knowing the fear was of each other and creating grand fucking canyons of needs not met but never more desired.

His ears were ringing eyes blinded as two pairs of hands found the doorknob they’d meant for all along. And it helped that Mickey’s apartment had a smell so distinct you could recognize it in the dark but had they made a mistake it wouldn’t have even mattered.

They say love is blind right? But who ever said that was only in reference to sight when there’s so much in your heart that’s ready to not know what to tell your head.

\---

Todd watched on feeling an almost eerie sense of calm at their disappearing forms. The name Mickey Milkovich hitting repeatedly against the inside of his skull with the slam of his door.

He reached wrapping fingers around his phone smiling and punching in a number so short it was almost stupid.

_Almost._


	24. Chapter 24

You never realize how closed off you’ve been until the moment you’re not. Like seeing something that physically hurts you and all you can fucking think is _yes, that’s it._

Mickey’s skin was on fire. A burn so deep it was actually uncomfortable and all he could think about was how you’re supposed to go into shock. His eyes screwed shut in tightly pained slits with every brush of Ian’s lips. He just wanted to go into shock.

His fingers reached out grasping into the air with each new sensation. The feeling of his breath adding to the already fire spreading out wildly under pore, into vein, between bone—

“Fuck stop—“ Mickey pushed against the weight on top of him now all too aware of how much effort it actually takes to breathe.

Ian stilled staring only for a few seconds before righting his brain and moving faster than what felt comfortable. Like he has done something so obscene he was ashamed and the pit just rolled on until Mickey was sure his body would expel it all over the sheets.

“What’s wrong?”

Saliva pooled in his mouth. The sour fucking taste of your own body having a bitch fit and you know it, _know_ it’s all down hill from there.

He stilled taking in the breaths as measured and slow as possible all the while feeling the burning laser stare of the man kneeled down half naked in front of him. How little it takes to break someone, how tough you are until you’re fucking not.

He should remember that, for the future.

“I’m sorry.” The sentiment shocking him from nausea. _Sorry._ He hadn’t wanted to say that. But Mickey could give himself credit where it was due and if there was one failsafe quality riddled into his shitty alcohol rotted gut—it was his deep seeded urge to be honest, one day.

Ian held his jaw open just enough to remind Mickey of a fish. That shocked face it gives you the second it’s been plucked from water. Like it never actually though you’d do it, go all the way through with your hook line and sinker or some shit like that.

He could still feel his touch. A strain growing deep within his eye sockets with every attempt at sneaking a look toward his skin just to make sure— “Mickey?”

 

_“Actions speak louder than words!” Mandy turned slamming the door with a fury only someone so hurt could possess. He stood tense from the flinch involuntarily shaken into his stance and that was is. The fight was over._

_Mickey had known somewhere ultimately that Mandy did actually give a shit about him. No matter all the times her claws had quite literally come out to slash him across the face, she still had that stupid look of empathy in her eyes. Her dark fucking ugly raccoon painted eyes._

_And when he’d come clean about being so far from clean he should have painted the picture for himself. There is never a welcome committee for honesty._

_She loved to pound that stupid saying right into the ground. ‘Actions speak louder than words Mickey’. But he had to wonder how true that was when your own words were shaky confessions. His sister being so quick to write him off as a drug addict unable to change his tune--_

_Maybe it was that no one wanted to just fucking listen._

Ian’s words spoke volumes. The exact tremble in his tone, the way a vowel could get choked if it was the one that really hit the spot. Mickey could listen to him speak one sentence and write you a fucking novel about what he really meant.

His actions were still grand though—he’d give him that. Always one for the big exit.

Or maybe that was him.

Either way Mickey couldn’t help but stare as his chest constricted in ached spasms wondering how people like his goddamn sister actually put any stock into that saying. Actions hurt in moments of mindless _reaction_ but words, they stung.

And his name sounded like something horrid stuck on Ian’s lips. The quiver toward the ending ‘y’ as if the entire reach out had been a mistake. A knee jerk reaction to wanting but not needing or vice versa. Some sick twisted thing they still couldn’t say outright despite _everything_.

The door flew open casting sharp angry light across their bodies. Half dressed and crouching in the dark—typical.

Todd stood bitter entirely blotted out by the backlight of the hallway. Mickey just noticed how scrawny he was. Not so much in a physical sense he guessed, but more so he was sure he could trip him up enough with sly back handed remarks he would surrender himself from the sheer mind fuck of it all.

“You piece of shit.”

Mickey’s eyes jumped irrationally toward Ian like he might leave and change his mind. “Todd—“

“No! You piece of shit I knew it. I fucking _knew_ it.”

“If you knew it then why the fuck are you here?” Mickey’s voice spit out with harsh punctuated meaning.

Fuck you Mandy words spoke plenty loud.

Todd lowered the arms outstretched awkwardly toward each doorframe walking forward with the menacing domineer of a pissed off mouse. A pissed off mouse with nothing better to do than chew through each sock in your closet.

His lips curled dry over teeth that seemed _too_ white. “Oh that’s right Mickey _Milkovich._ Mickey Milkovich from the Southside of Chicago where his dad mysteriously died right before he disappeared.”

Ian made to move and he reached out a pressured grip to keep him close. From fear of that empty void or to keep him from leaving or for his own safety—he wasn’t sure.

“Shucks I don’t know shit about you.”

He focused on the burn of Ian’s skin. The outline that seemed unfathomably nonelectric where his own fingers met the muscles of his arm. Mickey could swear they were glowing. A throbbing wound infected and radiating heat—parasitic even. Maybe, the good kind. The kind wormed into your heart and now a necessity of life versus the inevitability of death.

But that could be the bad kind too. Perspective and all that shit.

A shoe hit hard against the corner leg of a table. “Oh right hide behind that fast wit of yours.”

Mickey couldn’t see his face, not really. Only dark shadowed dips of bone and cartilage. The sneer he imagined upon Todd’s mouth only assumed and above all, expected. Humanity is one giant bitter loser after all.

“It’s a gift.”

“How do you know that?” Ian’s body vibrated with each word. “About Terry.”

“Oh Jesus fuck Ian!” Todd flung forward towering taller than anyone ever seemed to appear next to the red head. “Cut the little sad boy shit. All the god damn staring out the window and disappearing for hours.” His hand reached out wrapping around Ian’s shoulder and Mickey pulled them both down faster than the action had registered. Todd glared daggers. “That’s right, this is the name you always had half whispered on your lips. The one you cried out for in the middle of the night just after swallowing down mine.”

Everyone takes a hit differently. It’s actually a uniquely personal event.

Some pause with shock. Those are always the ones feeling the punch closer to their ego than face. Others jump back into the swinging of limbs just hoping to give back just as hard. Many leave dragging wounded prides tattered and bleeding behind them. And few, very few block it.

Todd blinked. Fucking _blinked._ He’s sure it was basically the same thing as shock, but still, it looked dumb.

And all it takes is a blink to get in another blow. Adrenaline having had enough time to spike, that second blow gives way to a third and fourth and if you were already in shock from the first then you’re fucked by the tenth.

He was on top of him crouched on the floor. His arms heavy mallets designed strictly to teach a lesson. The blood splattered in fine sprays of design and he hit again and again and again.

Swallow _that_ motherfucker.


	25. Chapter 25

**So I lied about this being the last chapter. It was simply too long and it felt too rushed as one chapter. Therefore i’ve broken it up into two! Meaning that this is the SECOND to last chapter.**

**One more chapter to go. Thanks for sticking with me. Sorry about the crazy delay of an update.**

_If you’re gonna fuck and run then you better run far. You don’t fuck and run a few blocks down. That’s like a fuck and stroll. Not even a stroll, a stupid little time out or something in whatever goddamn shit storm of emotion you got yourself into in the first place._

_Maybe she was projecting._

_Fiona’s feet hit the pavement hard. Her shoes entirely worn through with gaping holes that the heat of cement literally burned her steps. It felt appropriate._

_The Milkovich house was grotesque. It kind of looked similar to their own in a way—broken fence and peeled paint. A certain sense of gloom and stench of poverty, but fear and hate are odors that will mask anything. Create a color you didn’t realize existed until you see it. She felt sticky and in need of a shower the second their pathetic excuse for grass touched her ankles._

_She squinted her eyes against the sky looking up toward every window. Who even fucking lived here?_

_It had been one thing to pretend all that time that she didn’t know Ian was gay. She was his sister, his lifeline. And as much as the words were yelled about not being their mother—she was. Monica had never stayed long enough to do more good than harm and ultimately that will tip the scale of who you run to when you’re truly scared._

_Ian always ran to her. Cried in a curled wad of impossibly tight emotions it was alarming. Of all her siblings Ian scared her most. More than Carl’s affinity for harming small animals and finding it okay to poison relatives. Ian’s ability to be so alarmingly okay—_

_It was hard to not fault herself for being unable to read his mind._

_But Mickey Milkovich had been her final straw. Having had to bite deep down into her fist each time Ian skipped a meal or made some bullshit excuse about needing to head to school early. All of Lips subtle brush offs—the way he’d slide his eyes toward Ian any time Mandy brought up her brothers name._

_People exude._

_And even then, what was she going to do? Was she going to storm in on her almighty high horse and demand that he stop seeing the kid because she had the audacity to think he was trouble?_

_She wasn’t an idiot._

_For the first time in her entire life her stomach didn’t drop when Ian didn’t come home for dinner because for the first time in her life she knew exactly where he was. With Mickey._

_A snarl began to push against her throat. She was going to rip the little fuckers dick off._

_Because you can’t fuck and run. You can’t become an integral part in another human’s life just to rip out each root and let the tree fall. Ian was past fallen, he was firewood. Burned up and happy just to be warm._

_Even Fiona had her limits for how far she’ll let someone push around her family._

_So now was the time for a Milkovich to finally reap what they sow or however the saying goes. She would tell him that he was an asshole for breaking her brothers heart—that he was never allowed near her family or home again and that this whole fantastic drug addiction phase Ian insisted was happening was nothing but a clever cry for attention._

_Time to buck up._

_“Mickey!” Her fist rapped hard against the wood resonating off of every surface. Hell hath no fury after all. “Someone better open this door or I swear to god!”_

_She kicked a foot against the baseboard hard until she was sure she was going to be able to break right through._

_“Hold the fuck on!” Terry’s rough voice etched deep gouges into her skin. “This better be damn good—“_

_The door ripped open violently. Splinters of wood cracking and landing lithely onto the floor. She couldn’t see them fall but each piece clicked barely audible by their feet. The thought that Mickey and Mandy must have permanent splinters deep in their skin only momentarily haunting._

_His eyes slid up and down her body. Every hair stood on end and she swallowed down the bile pooling against her cheeks. “Is Mickey home?”_

_Terry leaned one shoulder toward his side and hooked a thumb through his jeans. A slow sneer curled against each tooth._

_“What the fuck you want with him?”_

_“It’s not really any of your business.”_

_The words shot back fast. And she knew she should be afraid of the creature before her. Not a man, not even a human—still it was hard to think straight when you’re only seeing red._

_He narrowed his eyes. The smile half slipping like maybe he thought she’d be more fun with a little bit of fire in her but also maybe he could put a bullet between her eyes just as fast to shut her up._

_“You show up at my door bitch—“ She could hear a struggle somewhere deeper inside the house. “He’s busy right now.”_

_A loud crash turned Terry’s head and Fiona’s stomach dropped a thousand feet. Something was very very wrong. A new kind of wrong._

_Maybe it was instinct. Maybe she just cared too damn much, maybe it was all for Ian because she feared if something really was happening and she failed—he’d never bring it up. He would never hold her to it._

_But she, personally, wouldn’t ever live it down._

_“Where’s Mickey?” A ferocity she didn’t know existed for anyone beside her own brothers and sisters reared its head. “Mickey!” Another crash._

_Growing up with Frank taught Fiona exactly two things about an inebriated man. One, they were more dangerous than you gave them credit for. Two, they were more clumsy as well._

_Her shoulder connected hard against Terry’s ribs and the pull of fingernail against plaster shocked through her nervous center on the way toward the living room._

_“What the fuck—“_

 

“STOP!”

Ian’s voice bellowed loud enough to deafen a man. Todd having been running purely off the fumes of his bruised pride looked away for only one second but it gave Mickey his chance. He jabbed an open hand directly into his neck while squirming in a crawl from beneath the now dry heaving man.

He hoped Ian took notice of that one. Fancy army moves his ass, he could do it too.

Mickey stood up. Deep breaths rattling in his chest he spit a wad of blood and saliva directly onto the back of Todd’s hand. “You don’t know shit about me.”

He’d never had a near death experience in his life—that is if you don’t count that time Terry had nearly choked the life from him, but he didn’t count that so whatever. Still the thought that your life flashes before your eyes when that happens seems misplaced. Mickey’s pretty sure that the closest thing to that story ever playing out before your eyes is when you’re sure you’ve been found out.

Because everyone has a secret, maybe not as big or as dirty as his or Ian’s or god damn anyone from back home. But still—when you see that slip away. That is when the entire past and future lays right out before you, flat, demolished.

Jail was gonna suck, being put in their by Todd would suck even more.

“Hey guys.” The voice came echoing into the room. Ian’s face flushed and panicked had sealed lips and it was sure as hell not him speaking in sucha dull fucking voice like that. “Don’t mean to interrupt but—“

Mickey followed the old shoes attached to washed out jeans all the way up to a cigarette dangling between fingers and then the stupid smug face on top of it all. Lip stood fantastically uninterested. A white knuckled hand gripping against his forearm with blond hair falling against his shoulder. Mandy’s face hollowed out in weary and potential for violence.

He wished he could think _thank fuck_ , but only one thought truly came smashing into mind.

Lip was fucking his sister. Again.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, finally. The last chapter of secret to sell. Sorry for the delay I’ve been super busy and this story was my writers block challenge. Keyword, challenge. Thank you all for reading and I hope you don’t hate the ending. I will be entirely throwing myself into Biting Down now that this is finished. You’re all wonderful.

_“Lip!” Fiona crashed through their front door, a pair of dragged heavy feet coming in quick misplaced steps next to her. “Lip!”_

_His bowl dropped in a clatter of breaking ceramic onto the floor and Carl jumped at the sound. A twisted frown and roll of eyes proving the only thing hiding that even the budding psychopath can get scared sometimes too._

_Lip rounded the living room corner and froze. Mickey’s mouth half hanging open with blood dripping and mixing colorfully across his sisters shirt—Fiona held most of his weight._

_“What the fuck happened?”_

_Fiona’s eyes could cut glass. Simultaneously the most kind spirited and terrifying person Lip had managed to know yet. “Go make up a bed.”_

Mandy’s elbow dug painfully into his back. The girl was all sharp angles.

_“How did we get so mixed up with members of the Milkovich famiy?”_

He swallowed down a smile remembering the words. His younger brother now standing a full-grown man bleeding and wild eyed next to the same goddamn guy he’d always been standing for.

And Mandy, her same pointy bones digging into every button he always had. Some things never change but more importantly, some things are just meant to be.

“You know what’s funny about the truth?” Lip flicked the last of his cigarette onto the floor crushing it down with his heel. Mickey’s eyes momentarily rolling like he still gave a shit about something as small as _disrespecting his space_ in a time like this. “That it’s all relative.”

Todd lifted his chin in his direction. A black eye steadily forming and blood crusted deeply into his cheek—Whoever it was had gotten in a good hit.

“You know who your brother has been pining for all this time?” Mandy’s fingers dug further into his body and Lip thought that maybe she could just take care of this whole situation. “A cheap thug so caught up in his daddy issues he had to off the poor guy.” Mickey’s shoulders visibly stiffened and maybe it had to do more so with the idea of Terry being a ‘poor guy’ than Mickey being an accused murderer. Todd wiped a hand against his mouth sniffling back blood. “Isn’t that right?”

“Go to fucking hell.”

Mandy’s words came out hot and landed cool. Lip would’ve been afraid if he wasn’t also feeling her shake. Then again—that was probably just pure fury.

“Oh what you’re gonna speak up for him too?” Each new word falling from his mouth stuck another knife into Ian’s gut and he could see it. The misplaced guilt on his brother’s face for allowing his self-punishing distraction to bring a sledgehammer against everyone in his life. “Cut from the same ghetto trash tree. What did I expect.”

Lip laughed. “I’d be careful if I were you.” His back arching just slightly into the woman behind him to both calm and keep back. “She’s got a track record with people coming in and messing with what’s hers.”

The room was oddly quiet. Charged to the point of being a goddamn beam for lightning but still aside from the underlying tremor. Every piece to the picture captured freeze frame and waiting to make their moves.

“You can’t talk your way out of this.” Todd’s chin lifted even higher. He couldn’t even convince himself. “Or fight your way. He’s done.”

 

_Mickey hit the pillow on Ian’s bed hard. His body having completely just—given up._

_Lip scratched at his forearm and turned toward Fiona sagging against the doorframe. “You care to fucking explain this?”_

_She moved in slow motion, adrenaline nearly visibly leaking from her bones onto the floor. “Mickey needs to stay here tonight.” Debbie’s soft feet padded toward the room and Fiona looked back all weary smiles and unsaid reasoning. “Don’t tell Ian—“_

_It was a knee jerk sentence. An expel of irrational panic that may have been more on the forefront of her mind than even the bleeding man she’d dumped down onto the bed._

_“Tell him what?”_

_“Just—“ Her mouth twitched in and out of the resolve she could only drop before the second oldest fuck up and the 4 th. “He doesn’t need to know how bad it is.”_

_And all Lip could do was nod. Eyes slipping back and forth to the man who not 5 months prior could have been considered a threat and back again to his sister; the girl who’d brought him home._

_“Yea, okay.”_

“Wait—“ Ian broke his silence. A thousand intentions swimming behind his eyes.

Todd swung his neck dramatically all spastic movements Lip thought maybe he’d just accidentally kill himself. “Shut up Ian.”

His body lunged for Todd’s just as fast as Mickey’s did for Ian. Lip could feel each string left holding his composure in the face of such a pathetic man fray, but as he stood now rigidly still and a good two feet closer—the players in the room became more clear.

When a bullet fires what do you do? Reach for the gun or swallow it as your own?

“Listen—“ His jaw was tight. “Contrary to the typical saying, I really _do_ want to fight you.” Mandy having moved instep with him still had nails dug into his back. They flexed harder as if begging please _let me be the one who does it_. “But I’m not going to do that, unfortunately.”

“Why the hell not?” Mickey mumbled under his breath still with a hand seemingly fucking welded onto Ian’s stomach.

And he didn’t wait for Todd’s quipped remark or for Mickey to catch up. This story was over long ago. The first time Lip had heard Ian’s voice drag in subdued monotones of _good, fine, nice—_ he didn’t need to even be told. Fucking knew right then and there Todd was poison.

Rotting Ian from the inside out replacing fire with kindle. Leaving him with all his ability to burn bright and hiding every match. He hated him.

“Mickey has an alibi for whatever you’re trying to pin on him.” Lip reflexively shoved a hand in his pocket looking for another cigarette despite knowing full well that had been his last one. “Go home Todd, lick your wounds and don’t come back.”

 

_They all knew Fiona smoked cigarettes. It wasn’t some secret, still she tried to not show Debbie and Carl._

_He could remember the first time she caught Ian smoking all huddled secret Marlboros in the van. Had she not been screaming at him long enough to lose her voice, Lip’s sure she would’ve cried. Another one bites the dust, history repeatin,g she was a bad role model, yadda yadda yadda._

_He could only imagine what would happen if Liam ever got a hold of one._

_“What’s up?”_

_Fiona jumped dropping the cigarette from her mouth onto the table. “Shit—“ Her hand rubbing at ash ineffectively. “Why aren’t you asleep?”_

_“Smelled smoke, got a craving.”_

_She flipped him off before handing over the pack and sucking hard again on her own. “Glad I’m raising an addict.”_

_“Like father like son.”_

_Her eyes shifted down but he could see a smile crawling up against the side of her mouth. She looked old. Far older than her years and he wondered if maybe they all did._

_But maybe they looked young, succubus and incubus monsters coming along and draining the life from any hand that dared to feed. From Fiona herself._

_“Ian asleep?”_

_He nodded silently. “What’s going on Fiona?”_

_The cigarette glowed with life. “Do me a favor ya?”_

_Lip reached forward taking the lighter from her other hand and felt the sweat from the iron grip against the plastic. “Need help burying a body?” The flamed licked close against his thumb and he swore pulling back before trying again._

_The chuckle sitting loosely inside his chest coiled tight._

_“Give everyone in this house an alibi.”_

Mickey’s nose was bleeding a slow trickle. Small drops seemingly following the exact same path. Like one of those pictures you see where no matter what angle the eyes are always watching—no matter what angle, Mickey bled.

“You people—“ Todd shook his head. “You people are _fucking_ crazy.” A laugh puffed out in disbelief. “I should’ve known.” His head turning to glare across at Ian. “A good fuck always comes with strings attached.”

“You piece of shi—“ Mickey’s voice was cut off.

“It doesn’t matter though.” Todd continued to drag nails across chalkboards with his words. “I already called your friendly neighborhood cop. Tony or whatever the happy go lucky idiot called himself. It’s done. You’re bed is made.”

Mickey flexed his knuckles cracking each one separately, nodding slow. “And now it’s time to lay in it.”

Todd smiled coolly before turning toward the door. His work here was done.

The ring of a cell phone made them all twitch. Sound invading the silent revelations and Lip watched bewildered while a Milkovich took the fall, a Gallagher let him and a stranger walked away unharmed, shrapnel in his wake.

And when Todd left almost like he had never been there at all letting the door slam behind him, the phone continued to go off. A constant loop of noise keeping the four of them together able to focus on one thing until finally—silence.

“We should go.” Ian’s voice sounded out of place. Underused. “We should go now.”

Mandy tensed pulling back away from his body and Lip noticed the cool emptiness it left. “What? Go?” Her face pulled into composed panic. “You can’t go!”

 _I just got everyone back_. That’s what she meant.

“Wait we?”

Lip walked forward splaying a hand against his brother’s chest. His heartbeat pounded with a fury. “Stop, think about this.”

Ian’s eyes were wild. “I have. I did.” His jaw bunched in quick bites. “This is the best thing we can do right now. Get out of dodge and just—“ His hands flew up, “start over! You heard what he said he’s gonna fry us for this.”

“We?” Mickey’s voice was louder now. “We?”

He sounded dumb. Unable to wrap together two letters into cohesive meaning and the blood still fell at a steady stream now happily trailing down his chin and shirt.

“You can’t just take off into the night like a couple of fucking thieves!” Mandy’s voice rose and Lip could sonically tell the levels of beside herself she was nearing. “Like some goddamn Aladdin shit where you sneak off and—“ All three men were now staring at her in awe. She reached out to motion toward Lip. “We’re not going to be your raja and abu!”

Mickey quirked an eyebrow before reaching the back of his hand up to wipe at the blood. “You need serious meds.”

“Mandy—“ Ian pushed past Lip, stepped around Mickey and he watched closely at the tenderness the younger man laid on the girl before him. The girl who took no bullshit, the original trust no bitch. And there were tears in her eyes. “You’re never going to lose me.”

 

When they were younger, 7 or 8, Lip had found Ian crying on the front steps of their house. Fiona had instilled upon them to never berate emotion and to also never leave a wound unclean. So after a quick bodily harm check of any and all possible evidence that someone had dared fuck with the Gallaghers Lip stood back and gaped.

_“What’s wrong?”_

Ian’s eyes had been wide and red rimmed. Pure anguish pouring from his body before barely whispering of the neighborhood cat he’d taken to feeding.

He’d found it dead an hour earlier, hit and run. Another casualty.

And although he had always known his brother as being unable to separate from any living thing he’d felt attached to, he might not have taken it so seriously until then. How Ian did not care half heartedly, he poured every soul he encountered into himself, shot up through his veins and as much as they thought that maybe they needed Ian—he needed them.

 

Mandy’s makeup began to run. “We’ve been through,” she sniffled and smiled sadly, desperately. “We’ve been through so much you know?”

“I know.” Ian smiled and picked up a stringy piece of her hair. “I don’t know what’s bigger than going through the trauma of going blonde.”

A laugh escaped like a hostage, entirely out of her control and she nodded more tears welling over her lower lids.

“Where are you gonna go?”

Ian turned back rolling his eyes over every part of Mickey’s body, like he goddamn wanted to devour him whole. Like maybe he was always his.

“I don’t know.” Mickey looked up to meet his stare. The blood had begun to dry.

And maybe it was because, despite himself, Lip kinda liked Mickey. Maybe it was because Mandy had not touched him with malice in a full 24 hours. Maybe it was because he had been there in that position himself.

No matter what it was, Lip could do nothing besides watch his little brother and the infamous southside thug walk out that door. Every soft-spoken promise to the girl now weeping into his side was not of ill will. He knew Ian was no liar.

He would be back, eventually. They both would.

 

_\---_

_She opened the door slowly listening to every creak and movement. The stench of cigarettes clinging to her clothes having been up for hours smoking with Lip until finally he’d knocked right out on the kitchen table._

_Fiona had checked on Mickey and Ian 4 times before leaving. They were always in the same position as the other no matter the fact of being rooms apart._

_It seemed odd to think but the Milkovich house actually seemed safer in the shroud of night. No harsh light there to illuminate the blood and piss stains. The ache of torture and emotional viscera spread out for display more harshly in the afternoon._

_Welcome to our home, this is where we rape the children would you like to come in?_

_The couch was stained in blotched spots of blood. Mickey’s blood, from earlier. A set of handcuffs still half linked to the nailed down table leg._

_“Fucker.” She spat onto the spot turning toward the sound of snoring that could wake even the dead._

_Terry looked like a truck had hit him. Bruises crawling along his face and a busted lip crusted over reopening each time his mouth moved in sleep. Fiona could almost trace the shape of Ian’s knuckles along the grotesque features. Suddenly the idea that Mandy and Mickey had been spawned by such a creature seemed—unfathomable._

_She leaned over holding her breath like he was contagious and placed the pillow over his face. Flashes of walking in to find Mickey cuffed in place half naked an endless stream of women walking in and out dead eyed and there for one thing only—a job. The kid, because that’s what he was, really, left to endure whatever his dad wanted. Left sitting in his own misery a straight face no food yet no waver of daring to give the tyrant an inch._

_He’d pissed himself, she could smell it while carrying him out._

_Terry snorted and his eyeballs twitched horridly under the thin lids._

_“This is less than you deserve.”_

_Fiona watched silently and with a ferocity behind her movements unmatched by any. He didn’t even put up a fight, barely woke up so deeply encumbered by whatever alcohol coursed through his system._

_She held the pillow in place for 20 minutes, just to be sure. Rechecking the now dead pulse of the biggest threat to her family she had only just now had the mind to notice._

_The door closed quietly behind her. A click of lock in place. The man had created a prison and he was its last tenant._

_Good riddance._


End file.
